RES 


u. 


L 


cr     <2^?^U^^^ 

~     fasyi^i> 


^ 


339 


QN  THE  CROSS 


Romance  of  the  Passion  Play  at 
Oberammergau 

BY 

WlLHELMINE   VON   HlLLERN 

AND 

MARY  J.  S AFFORD 


Copyright,  1903 

BY 
ANTHONY  J.  DREXEL  BIDDLB. 


PKBSS  OF  DREXEL  BIDDLB,  PHILADELPHIA,  O.  9. 


URL 

SRLF  <'.-         - 


TO 

HERR  JOHANNES   DIEMER, 

TUB   RENOWNED   DELIVERER  OF  THE   PROLOGUE  IN  THE   PASSION   PLAYS 

OF  THE    LAST    DECADE,    A  TRUE   SON   OF   AMMERGAU,    IN   WHOSE 

UNASSUMING    PERSON     DWELLS    THE  CALM,    DEEP   SOUL  OF 

THE  ARTIST,    THE  LOYAL   SYMPATHIZING  FRIEND,   IN 

WHOSE    PEACEFUL    HOME  I   FOUND   THE  QUIET 

AND   THE  MOOD  I  NEEDED   TO   COMPLETE 

THIS  WORK,  IT  IS  NOW  DEDICATED, 

WITH   GRATEFUL  ESTEEM,  BY 

THE  AUTHORESS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOR. 

INTRODUCTION, .        .        r 

CHAPTER  I. 
A  PHANTOM, I 

CHAPTER  II. 
OLD  AMMERGAU, 7 


CHAPTER  III. 
YOUNG  AMMERGAU  ..........      22 

CHAPTER  IV. 
EXPELLED  FROM  THE  PLAY,         .        .        .....      30 

CHAPTER  V. 
MODERN  PILGRIMS  ..........      41 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  EVENING  BEFORE  THE  PLAY,       ......      56 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  PASSION  PLAY,  ........      67 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
FREYER,      ...........      94 

CHAPTER  IX. 
SIGNS  AND  WONDERS,          ........     no 

CHAPTER  X. 
IN  THE  EARLY  MORNING,    ........     iai 

CHAPTER  XI. 
MARY  AND  MAGDALENE,     ........     iji 


CHAPTER  XII. 
BRIDAL  TORCHES  ........       '.        .     148 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
BANISHED  FROM  EDEN  ......        ...     159 


U  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIV.  rAGB. 

PlETA 162 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK 169 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
PRISONED 183 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
PLYING  FROM  THE  CROSS 193 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE  MARRIAGE, 2oS 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE, 221 

CHAPTER  XX. 
CONFLICTS,          . 235 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
UNACCOUNTABLE 247 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
FALLING  STARS, 258 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
NOLI  ME  TANGERE, 280 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
ATTEMPTS  TO  RESCUE 293 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
DAY  is  DAWNING, .     301 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  LAST  SUPPORT, 312 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
BETWEEN  POVERTY  AND  DISGRACE,     .        .        .        .        .        .    319 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
PARTING, 329 


CONTENTS.  HI 

CHAPTER  XXIX.  PAOF 

IN  THE  DESERTED  HOUSE,  .......     34  1 

i 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  "WlESHERRLE,"  ........       3^0 


CHAPTER  XXX,. 
THE  RETURN  HOME,  ........     358- 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
To  THE  VILLAGE  ..........     364 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
RECEIVED  AGAIN,        .........     371 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
AT  DAISENBERGER'S  GRAVE  ........     382 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 
THE  WATCHWORD,     .........     389 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
MEMORIES,  .........     396 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
THE  MEASURE  is  FULI  ..........    403. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ON  THE  WAV  TO  THE  CROSS,          ,  ......      413. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
STATIONS  OF  SORROW  .........    422 

CHAPTER  XL. 
NEAR  THE  GOAL,         .........    432 

CONCLUSION. 
FROM  TIJ.USION  TO  TRUTH,         .......    44<> 


•      INTRODUCTION. 

It  was  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  that  the  risen  Son  of 
God  showed  Himself,  as  a  simple  gardener,  to  the  penitent 
sinner.  The  miracle  has  become  a  pious  tradition.  It  hap- 
pened long,  long  ago,  and  no  eye  has  ever  beheld  Him  since. 
Even  when  the  risen  Lord  walked  among  the  men  and  women 
of  His  own  day,  only  those  saw  Him  who  wished  to  do  so. 

But  those  who  wish  to  see  Him,  see  Him  now ;  and  those 
who  wish  to  seek  Him,  find  Him  now. 

The  Garden  of  Gethsemane  has  disappeared — the  hot  sun 
of  the  East  has  withered  it.  All  things  are  subject  to  change. 
The  surface  of  the  earth  alters  and  where  the  olive  tree  once 
grew  green  and  the  cedar  stretched  its  leafy  roof  above  the 
head  of  the  Redeemer  and  the  Penitent,  there  is  nothing  now 
save  dead,  withered  leafage. 

But  the  Garden  blooms  once  more  in  a  cool,  shady  valley 
among  the  German  mountains.  Modern  Gethsemane  bears 
the  name  of  Oberammergau.  As  the  sun  pursues  its  course 
from  East  to  West,  so  the  salvation  which  came  from 
the  East  has  made  its  way  across  the  earth  to  the  West. 
There,  in  the  veins  of  young  and  vigorous  nations,  still  flow 
the  living  streams  that  water  the  seeds  of  faith  on  which  the 
miracle  is  nourished,  and  the  stunted  mountain  pine  which 
has  sprung  from  the  hard  rocks  of  the  Ettal  Mountain  is 
transformed  to  a  palm  tree,  the  poor  habitant  of  the  little 
mountain  village  to  a  God.  It  is  change,  and  yet  constancy 
amid  the  change. 

The  world  and  its  history  also  change  in  the  passage  oi 
the  centuries.  The  event  before  which  the  human  race  sank 
prostrate,  as  the  guards  once  did  when  the  risen  Christ  burst 
the  gates  of  the  tomb,  gradually  passed  into  partial  oblivion. 
The  thunder  with  which  the  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in 
twain  died  away  in  the  misty  distance;  heaven  closed  forever 
behind  the  ascended  Lord,  the  stars  pursued  their  old 
courses  in  undisturbed  regularity;  revelations  were  silent. 
Men  rubbed  their  eyes  as  though  waking  from  a  dream  and 


Vi  INTRODUCTION. 

began  to  discuss  what  portion  was  truth  and  what  illusion. 
The  strife  lasted  for  centuries.  One  tradition  overthrew  an- 
other, one  creed  crowded  out  another.  With  sword  in  hand 
and  the  trumpet  of  the  Judgment  Day  the  Ecclesia  Militans 
established  the  dogma,  enforced  unity  in  faith.  But  peace 
did  not  last  long  under  the  rule  of  the  church.  The  Re- 
formation again  divided  the  Christian  world,  the  Thirty  Years 
War,  the  most  terrible  religious  conflict  the  earth  has  ever 
witnessed  began,  and  in  the  fury  of  the  battle  the  combatants 
forgot  the  cause  of  the  warfare.  Amid  the  streams  of  blood, 
the  clouds  of  smoke  rising  from  burning  cities  and  villages, 
the  ruins  of  shattered  altars,  the  cross,  the  holy  emblem  for 
which  the  battle  raged,  vanished,  and  when  it  was  raised 
again,  it  was  still  but  an  emblem  of  warfare,  no  longer  a 
symbol  of  peace. 

There  is  a  single  spot  of  earth  where,  untouched  by  the 
tumult  of  the  world,  sheltered  behind  the  lofty,  inhospitable 
wall  of  a  high  mountain,  the  idea  of  Christianity  has  been  pre- 
served in  all  its  simplicity  and  purity — Oberammergau.  As 
God  once  suffered  the  Saviour  of  the  World  to  be  born  in  a 
manger,  among  poor  shepherds,  He  seems  to  have  extended 
His  protecting  hand  over  this  secluded  nook  and  reserved  the 
poor  mountaineers  to  repeat  the  miracle.  Concealed  behind 
the  steep  Ettal  mountain  was  a  monastery  where,  from  ancient 
times,  the  beautiful  arts  had  been  sedulously  fostered. 

One  of  the  monks  was  deeply  grieved  because,  in  the  out- 
side world,  iconoclasm  was  rudely  shaking  the  old  forms  and, 
in  blind  fear,  even  rejecting  religious  art  as  "  Romish."  As 
no  holy  image  would  be  tolerated;  the  Saviour  and  His 
Saints  must  disappear  entirely  from  the  eyes  of  men.  Then, 
in  his  distress,  the  inspiration  came  that  a  sacred  drama, 
performed  by  living  beings,  could  produce  a  more  powerful 
effect  than  word  or  symbol.  So  it  was  determined  in  the 
monastery  that  one  should  be  enacted. 

The  young  people  in  the  neighborhood,  who  had  long 
been  schooled  by  the  influence  of  the  learned  monks  to 
appreciate  beauty,  were  soon  trained  to  act  legends  and  bib- 
lical poems.  With  increasing  skill  they  gained  more  and  more 
confidence,  till  at  last  their  holy  zeal  led  them  to  show  man- 
kind the  Redeemer  Himself,  the  Master  of  the  world,  in  His 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

own  bodily  form,  saying  to  erring  humanity :  "  Lo,  thus  He 
was  and  thus^He  will  be  forever." 

And  while*  in  the  churches  paintings  and  relics  were 
torn  from  the  walls  and  crucifixes  destroyed,  the  first  Pas- 
sion play  was  performed,  A.  D.  1634,  under  the  open  sky 
in  the  churchyard  of  Oberammergau — for  this  spot,  on  ac- 
count of  its  solemn  associations,  was  deemed  the  fitting 
place  for  the  holy  work.  The  disgraced  image  of  love,  de- 
filed by  blood  and  flames,  once  more  rose  in  its  pure  beauty ! 
Living,  breathing !  The  wounds  inflicted  more  than  a  thou- 
sand years  before  again  opened,  fresh  drops  of  blood  trickled 
from  the  brow  torn  by  its  diadem  of  thorns,  again  the  "  Con- 
tinue ye  in  My  love "  fell  from  the  pallid  lips  of  the  Lamb 
of  God,  and  what  Puritanism  had  destroyed  in  its  dead  form 
was  born  anew  in  a  living  one.  But,  amid  the  confusion 
and  roar  of  battle,  the  furious  yells  of  hate,  no  one  heard 
the  gentle  voice  in  the  distant  nook  beyond  the  mountains. 

The  message  of  peace  died  away,  the  Crucified  One  shed 
His  blood  unseen. 

Years  passed,  the  misery  ot  the  people  constantly  in- 
creased, lands  were  ravaged,  the  ranks  of  the  combatants 
thinned. 

At  last  the  warriors  began  to  be  paralyzed,  the  raging 
storm  subsided  and  pallid  fear  stared  blankly  at  the  foes  who 
had  at  last  gained  their  senses — the  plague,  that  terrible 
Egyptian  Sphinx,  lured  by  the  odor  of  corruption  emanating 
from  the  long  war,  stole  over  the  earth,  and  those  at  whom  she 
gazed  with  the  black  fiery  eyes  of  her  torrid  zone,  sank  be- 
neath it  like  the  scorched  grass  when  the  simoom  sweeps  over 
the  desert. 

Silence  fell,  the  silence  of  the  grave,  for  wherever  this 
spectre  stalks,  death  follows. 

Fear  reconciled  enemies  and  made  them  forget  their 
rancor  in  union  against  the  common  foe,  the  cruel,  invincible 
plague.  They  gazed  around  them  for  some  helping  hand,  and 
once  more  turned  to  that  over  which  they  had  so  long  quar- 
relled. Then  amid  the  deathlike  stillness  of  the  barren  fields, 
the  empty  houses,  the  denuded  churches,  and  the  desolated 
land,  they  at  last  heard  the  little  bell  behind  the  Ettal  moun- 
tain, which  every  decade  summoned  the  Christian  world  to 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

the  Passion  Play,  for  this  was  the  vow  taken  by  the  Ammergau 
peasants  to  avert  the  plague  and  the  divine  wrath.  Again 
the  ever  patient  Saviour  extended  His  arms,  crying :  "  Come 
unto  Me,  all  ye  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden !"  And  they 
did  come.  They  threw  themselves  at  His  feet,  the  wearied, 
hunted  earthlings,  stained  with  dust  and  blood,  and  He  com- 
forted and  refreshed  them,  while  they  again  recognized  Him 
and  learned  to  understand  the  meaning  of  His  sacrifice. 

Those  who  thus  saw  Him  and  received  the  revelation  an- 
nounced it  to  others,  who  flocked  thither  from  far  and  near 
till  the  little  church-yard  of  Oberammergau  became  too  nar- 
row, and  could  no  longer  contain  the  throngs ;  the  open 
fields  became  a  sacred  theatre  to  receive  the  pilgrims,  who 
longed  to  behold  the  Redeemer's  face. 

And,  strangely  enough,  all  who  took  part  in  the  sacred 
play  seemed  consecrated,  the  plague  passed  them  by,  Ammer- 
gau alone  was  spared. 

So  the  pious  seed  grew  slowly,  often  with  periods  when 
it  stood  still,  but  the  watchful  eye  can  follow  it  in  history. 

Peace  at  last  came  to  the  world.  Purer  airs  blew.  The 
Egyptian  hyena,  satiated,  left  the  ravaged  fields,  new  life 
bloomed  from  the  graves,  and  this  new  life  knew  naught  of 
the  pangs  and  sufferings  of  the  old.  From  the  brutality  and 
corruption  of  the  long  war,  the  new  generation  longed  for 
more  refined  manners,  culture,  and  the  pleasures  of  life.  But, 
as  usual  after  such  periods  of  deprivation  and  calamity,  one 
extreme  followed  another.  The  desire  for  more  refined  man- 
ners and  education  led  to  hyperculture,  the  love  of  pleasure 
into  epicureanism  and  luxury,  grace  into  coquetry,  mirth  into 
frivolity.  Then  came  the  so-called  age  of  gallantry.  The  foil 
took  the  place  of  the  sword,  the  lace  jabot  of  the  leather  jer- 
kin, the  smoke  of  battle  gave  way  to  the  clouds  of  powder 
scattered  by  heads  nodding  in  every  direction. 

Masked  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  danced  upon  the 
graves  of  a  former  generation,  a  new  Arcadia  was  created  in 
apish  imitation  and  peopled  with  grimacing  creatures  who 
tripped  about  on  tiptoe  in  their  high-heeled  shoes.  Instead  of 
the  mediaeval  representations  of  martyrs  and  emaciated  saints 
appeared  the  nude  gods  and  cupids  of  a  Watteau  and  his 
school.  Grace  took  the  place  of  majesty.  Instead  of  moral 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

law,  men  followed  the  easy  code  of  convenience  and  every- 
thing was  allowable  which  did  not  transgress  its  rules.  Thus 
arose  a  generation  of  thoughtless  pleasure  seekers,  which  bore 
within  itself  a  moral  pestilence  that,  in  contrast  with  the  "  Black 
Death,"  might  be  termed  the  "  Rosy  Death  "  for  it  breathed 
upon  the  cheeks  of  all  whom  it  attacked  the  rosy  flush  of  a' 
fever  which  wasted  more  slowly,  but  none  the  less  surely. 

And  through  this  rouged,  dancing,  skipping  age,  with 
the  click  of  its  high-heeled  shoes,  its  rustling  hooped  petti- 
coats, its  amorous  glances  and  heaving  bosoms,  the  chaste 
figure  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  with  a  terrible  solemnity  upon 
his  pallid  brow,  again  and  again  trod  the  stage  of  Ammergau, 
and  whoever  beheld  Him  dropped  the  flowing  bowl  of  pleasure, 
while  the  laugh  died  on  his  lips. 

Again  history  and  the  judgment  of  the  world  moved  for- 
ward. The  "  Rosy  Death  "  had  decomposed  and  poisoned 
all  the  healthful  juices  of  society  and  corrupted  the  very 
heart  of  the  human  race — morality,  faith,  and  philosophy, 
everything  which  makes  men  manly,  had  gradually  perished 
unobserved  in  the  thoughtless  whirl.  The  tinsel  and  apish 
civilization  no  longer  sufficed  to  conceal  the  brute  in  human 
nature.  It  shook  off  every  veil  and  stood  forth  in  all  its 
nakedness.  The  modern  deluge,  the  French  Revolution 
burst  forth.  Murder,  anarchy,  the  delirium  of  fever  swept 
over  the  earth  in  every  form  of  horror. 

Again  came  a  change,  a  transformation  to  the  lowest 
depths  of  corruption.  Grace  now  yielded  to  brutality,  beauty 
to  ugliness,  the  divine  to  the  cynical.  Altars  were  over- 
thrown, religion  was  abjured,  the  earth  trembled  under  the 
mass  of  destroyed  traditions. 

But  from  the  turmoil  of  the  throng,  fiercely  rending  one 
another,  from  the  smoke  and  exhalations  of  this  conflagration 
of  the  world,  yonder  in  the  German  Garden  of  Gethsemane 
again  rose  victoriously,  like  a  Phoenix  from  its  ashes,  the  de- 
nied, rejected  God,  and  the  undefiled  sun  of  Ammergau 
wove  a  halo  of  glory  around  the  sublime  figure  which  hung 
high  on  the  cross. 

It  was  a  quiet  victory,  of  which  the  frantic  mob  were 
ignorant ;  for  they  saw  only  the  foe  confronting  them,  not  the 
one  battling  above.  The  latter  was  vanquished  long  ago, 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

He  was  deposed,  and  that  settled  the  matter.  The  people 
in  their  sovereignty  can  depose  and  set  up  gods  at  pleasure, 
and  when  once  dethroned,  they  no  longer  exist ;  they  are 
hurled  into  Tartarus.  And  as  men  can  not  do  without  a  god, 
they  create  an  idol. 

The  country  groaned  beneath  the  iron  stride  of  the  Em- 
peror and,  without  wishing  or  knowing  it,  he  became  the  aven- 
ger of  the  God  in  whose  place  he  stood.  For,  as  the  Thirty 
Years  War  ended  under  the  scourge  of  the  pestilence,  and 
the  age  of  mirth  and  gallantry  under  the  lash  of  the  Revo- 
lution, the  Revolution  yielded  to  the  third  scourge,  the  self- 
created  idol! 

He,  the  man  with  compressed  lips  and  brow  sombre  with 
thought,  ruled  the  unchained  elements,  became  lord  of  the 
anarchy,  and  dictated  laws  to  a  universe.  But  with  iron 
finger  he  tore  open  the  veins  of  humanity  to  mark  upon  the 
race  the  brand  of  slavery.  The  world  bled  from  a  thousand 
wounds,  and  upon  each  he  marked  the  name  "  Napoleon." 

Then,  wan  as  the  moon  floats  in  the  sky  when  the  glow 
of  the  setting  sun  is  blazing  in  the  horizon,  the  sovereign  of 
the  world  in  his  bloody  splendor  confronted  the  pallid  shadow 
of  the  Crucified  One,  also  robed  in  a  royal  mantle,  still  wet 
with  the  blood  He  had  voluntarily  shed.  They  gazed  silently 
at  each  other — but  the  usurper  turned  pale. 

At  last,  at  the  moment  he  imagined  himself  most  like 
Him,  God  hurled  the  rival  god  into  the  deepest  misery  and 
disgrace.  The  enemy  of  the  world  was  conquered,  and  pop- 
ular hatred,  so  long  repressed,  at  last  freed  from  the  unbear- 
able restraint,  poured  forth  upon  the  lonely  grave  at  St. 
Helena  its  foam  of  execration  and  curses.  Then  the  con- 
queror in  Oberammergau  extended  His  arms  in  pardon,  say- 
ing to  him  also  :  "  Verily  I  say  unto  thee,  To-day  shalt  thou 
be  with  me  in  paradise." 

A  time  of  peace  now  dawned,  the  century  of  thought. 
After  the  great  exertions  of  the  war  of  liberation,  a  truce  in 
political  life  followed,  and  the  nations  used  it  to  make  up  for 
what  they  had  lost  in  the  development  of  civilization  during 
the  period  of  political  strife.  A  flood  of  ideas  inundated  the 
world.  All  talent,  rejoicing  in  the  mental  activity  which  had 
so  long  lain  dormant,  was  astir.  There  was  rivalry  and  con- 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

flict  for  the  prize  in  every  department.  The  rising  genera- 
tion, conscious  of  newly  awakening  powers,  dared  enterprise 
after  enterprise  and  with  each  waxed  greater.  With  increas- 
ing production,  the  power  of  assimilation  also  increased. 
Everything  grand  created  in  other  centuries  was  drawn  into 
the  circle  of  their  own  nation  as  if  just  discovered.  That  for 
which  the  enlightened  minds  of  earlier  days  had  vainly  toiled, 
striven,  bled,  now  bloomed  in  luxuriant  harvests,  and  the 
century  erected  monuments  to  those  who  had  been  mis- 
judged and  adorned  them  with  the  harvest  garland  garnered 
from  the  seeds  which  they  had  sowed  in  tears. 

What  Galvani  and  Salomon  de  Caus,  misunderstood  and 
unheard,  had  planned,  now  made  their  triumphal  passage 
across  the  earth  as  a  panting  steam  engine  or  a  flashing 
messenger  of  light,  borne  by  and  bearing  ideas. 

The  century  which  produced  a  Schiller  and  a  Goethe  first 
understood  a  Shakespeare,  Sophocles  and  Euripides  rose  from 
the  graves  where  they  had  lain  more  than  a  thousand  years, 
archaeology  brought  the  buried  world  of  Homer  from  beneath 
the  earth,  a  Canova,  a  Thorwaldsen,  a  Cornelius,  Kaulbach, 
and  all  the  great  masters  of  the  Renaissance  of  our  time,  took 
up  the  brushes  and  chisels  of  Phidias,  Michael  Angelo,  Ra- 
phael, and  Rubens,  which  had  so  long  lain  idle.  What 
Aristotle  had  taught  a  thousand,  and  Winckelmann  and 
Lessing  a  hundred  years  before,  the  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  art,  the  appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  was  no  longer 
mere  dead  capital  in  the  hands  of  learned  men,  but  circulated 
in  the  throbbing  veins  of  a  vigorously  developing  civilization ; 
it  demanded  and  obtained  the  highest  goal. 

The  circle  between  the  old  and  the  new  civilization  has 
closed,  every  chasm  has  been  bridged.  There  is  an  alternate 
action  of  old  and  new  forces,  a  common  labor  of  all  the  na- 
tions and  the  ages,  as  if  there  was  no  longer  any  division  of 
time  and  space,  as  if  there  was  but  one  eternal  art,  one  eternal 
science.  Ascending  humanity  has  trodden  matter  under  foot, 
conquered  science,  made  manufactures  useful,  and  transfigured 
art. 

But  this  light  which  has  so  suddenly  flamed  through  the 
world  also  casts  its  shadows.  Progress  in  art  and  science  ma- 
tures the  judgment,  but  judgment  becomes  criticism  and  criti- 


XU  INTRODUCTION. 

cism  negation.  The  dualism  which  permeates  all  creation,  the 
creative  and  the  destructive  power,  the  principle  of  affirma- 
tion and  of  denial,  cannot  be  shut  out  even  now,  but  must  con- 
tinue the  old  contest  which  has  never  yet  been  decided.  Criti- 
cal analysis  opposes  faith,  materialism  wars  against  idealism, 
pessimism  contends  with  optimism.  The  human  race  has 
reached  the  outermost  limit  of  knowledge,  but  this  does  not 
content  it  in  its  victorious  career,  it  wishes  to  break  through 
and  discover  the  God  concealed  behind.  Even  the  heart  of 
a  God  must  not  escape  the  scalpel  which  nothing  withstood. 
But  the  barrier  is  impenetrable.  And  one  party,  weary  of  the 
fruitless  toil,  pulls  back  the  aspiring  ones.  "  Down  to  matter, 
whence  you  came.  What  are  you  seeking  ?  Science  has 
attained  the  highest  goal,  she  has  discovered  the  protoplasm 
whence  all  organism  proceeded.  What  is  the  Creator  of 
modern  times  ?  A  physiological — chemical,  vital  function 
within  the  substance  of  a  cell.  Will  ye  pray  to  this,  suffer  for 
this,  ye  fools  ?" 

Others  turn  in  loathing  from  this  cynical  interpretation  of 
scientific  results  and  throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  beauty, 
seeking  in  it  the  divinity,  and  others  still  wait,  battling  be- 
tween earth  and  heaven,  in  the  dim  belief  of  being  nearest  to 
the  goal. 

It  is  a  tremendous  struggle,  as  though  the  earth  must  burst 
under  the  enormous  pressure  of  power  demanding  room,  irre- 
concilable contrasts. 

Then  amid  the  heat  of  the  lecture  rooms,  the  throng  of 
students  of  art  and  science,  comes  a  long-forgotten  voice  from 
the  days  of  our  childhood !  And  the  straining  eyes  suddenly 
turn  from  the  teachers  and  the  dissecting  tables,  from  the  glit- 
tering visions  of  art  and  the  material  world  to  the  stage  of 
Oberammergau  and  the  Passion  Play. 

There  stands  the  unassuming  figure  with  the  crown  of 
thorns  and  the  sorrowful,  questioning  gaze.  And  with  one 
accord  their  hearts  rush  to  meet  Him  and,  as  the  son  who  has 
grown  rich  in  foreign  lands,  after  having  eaten  and  enjoyed 
everything,  longs  to  return  to  the  poverty  of  his  home  and 
falls  repentantly  at  the  feet  of  his  forsaken  father,  the  human 
race,  in  the  midst  of  this  intoxication  of  knowledge  and  pleas- 
ure, sinks  sobbing  before  the  pale  flower  of  Christianity  and 


INTRODUCTION.  .     Xlll 

longingly  extends  its  arms  toward  the  rude  wooden  cross  on 
which  it  blooms !, 

That  powerful  thinker,  Max  Miiller,  says  in  his  compara- 
tive study  of  religions :  *  "  When  do  we  feel  the  blessings  of . 
our  country  more  warmly  and  truly  than  when  we  return  from 
abroad  ?  It  is  the  same  with  regard  to  religion."  That  fact 
is  apparent  here !  It  is  an  indisputable  verity  that,  at  the 
precise  period  when  art  and  science  have  attained  their  high- 
est stages  of  development,  the  Oberammergau  Passion  Play 
enjoys  a  degree  of  appreciation  never  bestowed  before,  that 
during  this  critical  age,  from  decade  to  decade,  people  flock 
to  the  Passion  Play  in  ever  increasing  throngs.  Not  only  the 
uncultivated  and  ignorant,  nay,  the  most  cultured — artists  and 
scholars,  statesmen  and  monarchs.  The  poor  village  no  longer 
has  room  to  shelter  all  its  guests;  it  is  positively  startling 
to  see  the  flood  of  human  beings  pour  in  on  the  evening  be- 
fore the  commencement  of  the  play,  stifling,  inundating  every- 
thing. And  then  it  is  marvellous  to  notice  how  quiet  it  is 
on  the  morning  of  the  play,  as  it  flows  into  the  bare  room 
called  the  theatre,  how  it  seems  as  it  were  to  grow  calm,  as  if 
every  storm  within  or  without  was  subdued  under  the  influence 
of  those  simple  words,  now  more  than  two  thousand  years  old. 
How  wonderful  it  is  to  watch  the  people  fairly  holding  their 
breath  to  listen  to  the  simple  drama  for  seven  long  hours 
without  heeding  the  time  which  is  far  beyond  the  limit  our 
easily  wearied  nerves  are  accustomed  to  bear. 

What  is  it,  for  whose  sake  the  highest  as  well  as  the  low- 
est, the  richest  and  the  poorest,  prince  and  peasant,  would 
sleep  on  a  layer  of  straw,  without  a  murmur,  if  no  bed  could 
be  had  ?  Why  will  the  most  pampered  endure  hunger  and 
thirst,  the  most  delicate  heat  and  cold,  the  most  timid  fear- 
lessly undertake  the  hard  journey  across  the  Ettal  mountain  ? 
Is  it  mere  curiosity  to  hear  a  number  of  poor  wood-carvers, 
peasants,  and  wood-cutters  repeat  under  the  open  sky,  exposed  to 
sun  and  rain,  in  worse  German  than  is  heard  at  school  the  same 
old  story  which  has  already  been  told  a  thousand  times,  as  the 
enemies  of  the  Passion  Play  say  ?  Would  this  bring  people 
every  ten  years  from  half  the  inhabited  world,  from  far  and 

*  "  Chips  from  a  German  Workshop."    Vol.  I.     "^Essays  on  the  Science 
of  Religion." 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

near,  from  South  and  North,  from  the  mountains  and  the  val- 
leys, from  palaces  and  huts,  across  sea  and  land  ?  Certainly 
not  ?  What  is  it  then  ?  A  miracle  ? 

Whoever  has  seen  the  Passion  Play  understands  it,  but  it 
is  difficult  to  explain  the  mystery  to  those  who  have  not. 

The  deity  remains  concealed  from  our  earthly  vision  and 
unattainable,  like  the  veiled  statue  of  Sais.  Every  attempt  to 
raise  this  veil  by  force  is  terribly  avenged. 

What  is  gained  by  those  modern  Socinians  and  Adorantes 
who,  with  ill-feigned  piety,  seek  to  drag  the  mystery  to  light 
and  make  the  God  a  human  being,  in  order  to  worship  in  the 
wretched  puppet  themselves  ?  Even  if  they  beheld  Him  face 
to  face,  they  would  still  see  themselves  only,  and  He  would 
cry :  "  You  are  like  the  spirit  which  you  understand,  not  me." 

And  what  do  the  Pantheists  gain  who  make  man  God,  in 
order  to  embrace  in  Him  the  unattainable  ?  Sooner  or  later 
they  will  perceive  that  they  have  mistaken  the  effects  for  the 
cause,  and  the  form  for  the  essence.  Loathing  and  disappoint- 
ment will  be  their  lot,  as  it  is  the  lot  of  all  who  have  nothing 
but — human  beings. 

But  those  to  whom  the  visible  is  only  the  symbol  of  the 
in-visible  which  teaches  them  from  the  effect  to  learn  the  cause, 
will,  with  unerring  logical  correctness,  pass  from  the  form  to 
the  essence,  from  the  illusion  to  the  truth. 

That  is  the  marvel  of  the  modern  Gethsemane,  which  this 
book  will  narrate. 


CHAPTER   I. 


A   PHANTOM. 

SOLEMN  and  lofty  against  the  evening  sky  towers  the 
Kofel,  the  land-mark  and  protecting  rock -bulwark  of  Oberam- 
mergau,  bearing  aloft  its  solitary  cross,  like  a  threatening  hand 
uplifted  in  menace  to  confront  an  advancing  foe  with  the  sym- 
bol of  victory. 

Twilight  is  gathering,  and  the  dark  shadow  of  the  mighty 
protector  stretches  far  across  the  quiet  valley.  The  fading 
glow  of  sunset  casts  a  pallid  light  upon  the  simple  cross  which 
has  stood  on  the  mountain  peak  for  centuries,  frequently  re- 
newed but  always  of  the  same  size,  so  that  it  can  be  seen  a 
long  distance  off  by  the  throngs  who  journey  upward  from 
the  valley,  gazing  longingly  across  the  steep,  inhospitable 
mountains  toward  the  goal  of  the  toilsome  pilgrimage. 

It  is  Friday.  A  long  line  of  carriages  is  winding  like  a 
huge  serpent  up  the  Ettal  mountain.  Amid  the  throng,  two 
very  handsome  landaus  are  especially  conspicuous.  The  first 
is  drawn  by  four  horses  in  costly  harnesses  adorned  with  a 
coronet,  which  prance  gaily  in  the  slow  progress,  as  if  the 
ascent  of  the  Ettal  mountain  was  but  pastime  for  animals  of 
their  breed.  In  the  equipage,  which  is  open,  sit  a  lady  and  a 
gentleman,  pale,  listless,  uninterested  in  their  surroundings 
and  apparently  in  each  other;  the  second  one  contains  a 
maid,  a  man  servant,  and  on  the  box  the  courier,  with  the 
pompous,  official  manner,  which  proclaims  to  the  world  that 
the  family  he  has  the  honor  of  serving  and  in  whose  behalf 
he  pays  the  highest  prices,  is  an  aristocratic  one.  The  mis- 
tress of  this  elegant  establishment,  spite  of  her  downcast 
eyes  and  almost  lifeless  air,  is  a  woman  of  such  remarkable 
beauty  that  it  is  apparent  even  amidst  the  confusion  of  veils 
and  wraps.  Blonde  hair,  as  soft  as  silk,  clusters  in  rings 
around  her  brow  and  diffuses  a  warm  glow  over  a  face  white 
as  a  tea  rose,  intellectual,  yet  withal  wonderfully  tender  and 
sensuous  in  its  outlines.  Suddenly,  as  though  curious  to 
penetrate  the  drooping  lids  and  see  the  eyes  they  concealed, 


2  ON  THE   CROSS. 

the  sun  bursts  through  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  throwing  a  golden 
bridge  of  rays  from  mountain  to  mountain.  Now  the  lashes 
are  raised  to  return  the  greeting,  revealing  sparkling  dark  eyes 
of  a  mysterious  color,  varying  every  instant  as  they  follow  the 
shimmering  rays  that  glide  along  the  cliff.  Then  something 
flashes  from  a  half-concealed  cave  and  the  beams  linger  a 
moment  on  a  pale  face.  It  is  an  image  of  Christ  carved  in 
wood  which,  with  uplifted  hand,  bids  the  new  comers  wel- 
come. But  those  who  are  now  arriving  do  not  understand  its 
.language,  the  greeting  remains  unanswered. 

The  sunbeams  glide  farther  on  as  if  saying,  "  If  this  is 
not  the  Christ  you  are  seeking,  perhaps  it  is  he  ?"  And  now 
— they  stop.  On  a  rugged  peak,  illumined  by  a  halo  of  light, 
stands  a  figure,  half  concealed  by  the  green  branches,  gazing 
with  calm  superiority  at  the  motley,  anxious  crowd  below. 
He  has  removed  his  hat  and,  heated  by  the  rapid  walk,  is 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  Long  black  locks 
parted  in  the  middle,  float  back  from  a  grave,  majestic  face 
with  a  black  beard  and  strangely  mournful  black,  far-seeing 
eyes.  The  hair,  tossed  by  the  wind,  is  caught  by  a  thorny 
branch  which  sways  above  the  prematurely  furrowed  brow. 
The  sharp  points  glow  redly  in  the  brilliant  sunset  light,  as  if 
crimsoned  with  blood  from  the  head  which  rests  dreamily 
against  the  trunk.  A  tremor  runs  through  the  form  of  the 
woman  below ;  she  suddenly  sits  erect,  as  though  roused 
from  sleep.  The  wandering  rays  which  sought  her  eyes  also 
lead  her  gaze  to  those  of  the  solitary  man  above,  and  on  this 
golden  bridge  two  sparkling  glances  meet.  Like  two  pedes- 
trians who  cannot  avoid  each  other  on  a  narrow  path,  they 
look  and  pause.  They  grasp  and  hold  each  other — one  must 
yield,  for  neither  will  let  the  other  pass. 

Then  the  sunbeam  pales,  the  bridge  has  fallen,  and  the  ap- 
parition vanishes  in  the  forest  shadows. 

"  Did  you  see  that  ?"  the  lady  asked  her  companion,  who 
had  also  glanced  up  at  the  cliff. 

"  What  should  I  have  seen  ?" 

"  Why — that — that — "  she  paused,  uncertain  what  words 
to  choose.  She  was  going  to  say,  "  that  man  up  there,"  but 
the  sentence  is  too  prosaic,  yet  she  can  find  no  other  and 


A    PHANTOM.  3 

says  merely,  "  him  up  there !"  Her  companion,  glancing  sky- 
ward, shakes  his  head. 

"  Him  up  >there  !  I  really  believe,  Countess,  that  the  air 
of  Ammergau  is  beginning  to  affect  you.  Apparently  you 
already  have  religious  hallucinations — or  we  will  say,  in  the 
language  of  this  hallowed  soil,  heavenly  visions  !" 

The  countess  leans  silently  back  in  her  corner — the  cold, 
indifferent  expression  returns  to  the  lips  which  just  parted  in 
so  lovely  a  smile.  "  But  what  did  you  see  ?  At  least  tell  me, 
since  I  am  not  fortunate  enough  to  be  granted  such  visions," 
her  companion  adds  with  kindly  irony.  "  Or  was  it  too 
sublime  to  be  communicated  to  such  a  base  worldling  as  I  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  says  curtly,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  fading  sunset  glow  in  order  to  recall  the 
vision  more  distinctly.  Then  she  remains  silent. 

Night  gradually  closes  in,  the  panting  train  of  horses  has 
reached  the  village.  Now  the  animals  are  urged  into  a  trot 
and  the  drivers  turn  the  solemn  occasion  into  a  noisy  tumult. 
The  vehicles  jolt  terribly  in  the  ruts,  the  cracking  of  whips,  the 
rattle  of  wheels,  the  screams  of  frightened  children  and  poul- 
try, the  barking  of  dogs,  blend  in  a  confused  din,  and  that 
nothing  may  be  wanting  to  complete  it,  a  howling  gust  of 
wind  sweeps  through  the  village,  driving  the  drifting  clouds 
into  threatening  masses. 

"  This  is  all  we  lacked — rain  too !"  grumbled  the  gentle- 
man. "  Shall  I  have  the  carriage  closed  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  Countess,  opening  her  umbrella. 
"Who  would  have  thought  it;  the  sun  was  shining  ten  min- 
utes ago !" 

"  Yes,  the  weather  changes  rapidly  in  the  mountains.  I 
saw  the  shower  rising.  While  you  were  admiring  some 
worthy  wood- cutter  up  yonder  as  a  heavenly  apparition,  i 
was  watching  the  approaching  tempest."  He  draws  the 
travelling  nig,  which  has  slipped  down,  closer  around  the 
lady  and  himself.  "  Come  what  may,  I  am  resigned ;  when 
we  are  in  Rome,  we  must  follow  the  Roman  customs.  Who 
would  not  go  through  fire  and  water  for  you,  Countess  ?" 
He  tries  to  take  her  hand,  but  cannot  find  it  among  the 
shawls  and  wraps.  He  bites  his  lips  angrily ;  he  had  ex- 
pected that  the  hand  he  sought  would  gratefully  meet  his  in 


4  ON   THE   CROSS. 

return  for  so  graceful  an  expression  of  loyalty  !  Large  drops 
of  rain  beat  into  his  face. 

"  Not  even  a  clasp  of  the  hand  in  return  for  the  infernal 
journey  to  this  peasant  hole,"  he  mutters. 

The  carriages  thunder  past  the  church,  the  flowers  and 
crosses  on  the  graves  in  the  quiet  church-yard  tremble  with 
the  shaking  of  the  ground.  The  lamps  in  the  parsonage  are 
already  lighted,  the  priest  comes  to  the  window  and  gazes 
quietly  at  the  familiar  spectacle.  "  Poor  travellers  !  Out  in 
such  a  storm !" 

One  carriage  after  another  turns  down  a  street  or  stops  be- 
fore a  house.  The  Countess  and  her  companion  alone  have 
not  yet  reached  their  destination.  Meantime  it  has  grown 
perfectly  dark.  The  driver  is  obliged  to  stop  to  shut  up  the 
carriage  and  light  the  lantern,  for  the  rain  and  darkness  have 
become  so  dense  and  the  travellers  are  drenched.  An  icy 
wind,  which  always  accompanies  a  thunderstorm  in  the 
mountain,  blows  into  their  faces  till  they  can  scarcely  keep 
their  eyes  open.  The  servant,  unable  to  see  in  the  gloom, 
is  clumsy  in  closing  the  carriage,  the  hand-bags  fall  down 
upon  the  occupants;  the  driver  can  scarcely  hold  the  horses, 
which  are  frightened  by  the  crowds  in  pursuit  of  lodgings. 
He  is  not  familiar  with  the  place  and,  struggling  to  restrain  the 
plunging  four-in-hand,  enquires  the  way  in  broken  sentences 
from  the  box,  and  only  half  catches  the  answers,  which  are 
indistinct  in  the  tumult.  Meantime  the  other  servants  have 
arrived.  The  Countess  orders  the  courier  to  drive  on  with 
the  second  carriage  and  take  possession  of  the  rooms  which 
have  been  engaged.  The  man,  supposing  it  is  an  easy  matter 
to  find  the  way  in  so  small  a  place,  moves  forward.  The 
Countess  can  scarcely  control  her  ill  humor. 

"  An  abominable  journey — the  horses  overheated  by  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain  and  now  this  storm.  And  the  lamps 
won't  burn,  the  wind  constantly  blows  them  out.  You  were 
right,  Prince,  we  ought  to  have  taken  a  hired — "  She  does  not 
finish  the  sentence,  for  the  ray  from  one  of  the  carriage  lamps, 
which  has  just  been  lighted  with  much  difficulty,  falls  upon  a 
swiftly  passing  figure,  which  looks  almost  supernaturally  tall 
in  the  uncertain  glimmer.  Long,  black  locks,  dripping  with 
moisture,  are  blown  by  the  wind  from  under  his  broad-brimmed 


A   PHANTOM.  g 

hat.  He  has  evidently  been  surprised  by  the  storm  without 
an  umbrella  and  is  hurrying  home — not  timidly  and  hastily, 
like  a  person  to  whom  a  few  drops  of  rain,  more  or  less,  is  of 
serious  importance,  but  rather  like  one  who  does  not  wish  to 
be  accosted.  The  countess  cannot  see  his  face,  he  has  al- 
ready passed,  but  she  distinguishes  the  outlines  of  the  slender, 
commanding  figure  in  the  dark  dress,  noticing  with  a  rapid 
glance  the  remarkably  elastic  gait,  and  an  involuntary :  "There 
he  goes  again !"  escapes  her  lips  aloud.  Obeying  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  calls  to  the  servant :  "  Quick,  ask  the  gentleman 
yonder  the  way  to  the  house  of  Andreas  Gross,  where  we  are 
going." 

The  servant  follows  the  retreating  figure  a  few  steps  and 
shouts,  "  Here,  you — "  The  stranger  pauses  a  moment,  half 
turns  his  head,  then,  as  if  the  abrupt  summons  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  meant  for  him,  moves  proudly  on  without  glancing 
back  a  second  time. 

The  servant  timidly  returns.  A  feeling  of  shame  over- 
whelms the  countess,  as  though  she  had  committed  the  blun- 
der of  ordering  him  to  address  a  person  of  high  rank  travelling 
incognito. 

"  The  gentleman  wouldn't  hear  me,"  says  the  lackey  apol- 
ogetically, much  abashed.  "  Very  well,"  his  mistress  answers, 
glad  that  the  darkness  conceals  her  blushes.  A  flash  of  light- 
ning darts  from  the  sky  and  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder  frightens 
the  horses.  "  Drive  on,"  the  countess  commands;  the  lackey 
springs  on  the  box,  the  carriage  rolls  forward — a  few  yards 
further  and  the  dark  figure  once  more  appears  beside  the 
vehicle,  walking  calmly  on  amid  the  thunder  and  lightning, 
and  merely  turns  his  head  slightly  toward  the  prancing  horses. 

The  equipage  dashes  by — the  countess  leans  silently  back 
on  the  cushions,  and  shows  no  further  desire  to  look  out. 

"  Tell  me,  Countess  Madeleine,"  asks  the  gentleman  whom 
she  has  just  addressed  as  "  Prince,"  "  what  troubles  you  to- 
day ?" 

The  countess  laughs.  "  Dear  me,  how  solemnly  you  put 
the  question  !  What  should  trouble  me  ?" 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  the  prince  continued.  "  You 
treat  me  coldly  and  grow  enthusiastic  over  a  vision  of  the  im- 
agination which  already  draws  from  you  the  exclamation : 


6  ON    THE    CROSS. 

'There  he  is  again  f  I  cannot  help  thinking  what  an  uncer- 
tain possession  is  the  favor  of  a  lady  whose  imagination  kin- 
dles so  easily." 

"This  is  charming,"  the  countess  tried  to  jest.  "My 
prince  jealous — of  a  phantom  ?" 

"That  is  just  it.  If  a  phantom  can  produce  such  variations 
in  the  temperature  of  your  heart  toward  me,  how  must  my 
hopes  stand  ?" 

"  Dear  Prince,  you  know  that  whether  with  or  without  a 
phantom,  I  could  never  yet  answer  this  question  which  Your 
Highness  frequently  condescends  to  ask  me." 

"  I  believe,  Countess,  that  one  always  stands  between  us ! 
You  pursue  some  unknown  ideal  which  you  do  not  find  in  me, 
the  realist,  who  has  nothing  to  offer  you  save  prosaic  facts — 
his  hand,  his  principality,  and  an  affection  for  which  unhap- 
pily he  lacks  poetic  phrases." 

"  You  exaggerate,  Prince,  and  are  growing  severe.  There 
is  a  touch  of  truth  —  I  am  always  honest — yet,  as  you  know, 
you  are  the  most  favored  of  all  my  suitors.  Still  it  is  true  that 
an  unknown  disputes  precedence  with  you.  This  rival  is  but 
the  man  of  my  imagination — but  the  world  contains  no  one 
like  my  ideal,  so  you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  What  ideal  do  you  demand,  Countess,  that  no  one  can 
attain  it?" 

"Ahl  a  very  simple  one,  yet  you  conventional  natures 
will  never  understand  it.  It  is  the  simplicity  of  the  lost  Para- 
dise to  which  you  can  never  return.  I  am  by  nature  a  lover 
of  the  ideal  —  I  am  enthusiastic  and  need  enthusiasm;  but 
you  call  me  a  visionary  when  I  am  in  the  most  sacred  earnest. 
1  yearn  for  a  husband  who  believes  in  my  ideal,  I  want  no 
one  from  whom  I  must  conceal  it  in  order  to  avoid  ridicule, 
and  thus  be  unable  to  be  true  to  my  highest  self.  He  whom 
my  soul  seeks  must  be  at  once  a  man  and  a  child — a  man  in 
character  and  a  child  in  heart.  But  where  :n  our  modern  life 
is  such  a  person  to  be  found  ?  Where  is  gentleness  without 
feeble  sentimentality?  Where  is  there  enthusiasm  without  fan- 
tastic vagueness,  where  simplicity  of  heart  without  narrowness 
of  mind  ?  Whoever  possesses  a  manly  character  and  a  strong 
intellect  cannot  escape  the  demands  which  science  and  politics 
impose,  and  this  detracts  froai  the  emotional  Jife,  gives  promi- 


A    PHAMTOM.  7 

nent  development  to  concrete  thought,  makes  men  realistic 
and  critical.  But  of  all  who  suffer  from  these  defects  of  our 
time,  you  are  the  best,  Prince!"  she  adds,  smilingly. 

"  That  is  sorry  comfort,"  murmurs  the  prince.  "  It  is  a 
peculiar  thing  to  have  an  invisible  rival ;  who  will  guarantee 
that  some  person  may  not  appear  who  answers  to  the  descrip- 
tion ?" 

"  That  is  the  reason  I  have  not  yet  given  you  my  con- 
sent," replies  the  countess,  gravely. 

Her  companion  sighs  heavily,  makes  no  reply,  but  gazes 
steadfastly  into  the  raging  storm.  After  a  time  he  says,  softly, 
"  If  I  did  not  love  you  so  deeply,  Countess  Madeleine — " 

"  You  would  not  bear  with  me  so  long,  would  you  ?"  asks 
the  countess,  holding  out  her  hand  as  if  beseeching  pardon. 

This  one  half  unconscious  expression  of  friendship  disarms 
the  irritated  man. —  He  bends  over  the  slender  little  hand  and 
raises  it  tenderly  to  his  lips. 

"  She  must  yet  be  mine !"  he  says  under  his  breath,  by 
way  of  consolation,  like  all  men  whose  hopes  are  doubtful. 
"  I  will  even  dare  the  battle  with  a  phantom." 


CHAPTER  II. 


OLD    AMMERGAU. 

AT  last,  after  a  long  circuit  and  many  enquiries,  the  goal 
was  gained.  The  dripping,  sorely  shaken  equipage  stopped 
with  two  wheels  in  a  ditch  filled  with  rain  water,  whose  over- 
flow flooded  the  path  to  the  house.  The  courier  and  maid 
seemed  to  have  missed  their  way,  too,  for  the  second  carriage 
was  not  there.  People  hurried  out  of  the  low  doorway  shad- 
ing small  flickering  candles  with  their  hands.  The  countess 
shrank  back.  What  strange  faces  these  peasants  had !  An 
old  man  with  a  terribly  hang-dog  countenance,  long  grey  hair, 
a  pointed  Jewish  beard,  sharp  hooked  nose,  and  sparkling 
eyes !  And  two  elderly  women,  one  short  and  fat,  with  prom- 
inent eyes  and  black  curling  hair,  the  other  a  tall,  thin,  odd- 
looking  person  with  tangled  coal-black  hair,  hooked  nose,  and 
glittering  black  eyes. 


8  ON    THE   CROSS. 

In  the  mysterious  shadows  cast  by  the  wavering  lights 
upon  the  sharply  cut  faces,  the  whole  group  looked  startlingly 
like  a  band  of  gypsies. 

"  Oh !  are  these  Ammergau,  people  ?"  whispered  the 
countess  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  Does  Gross,  the  wood-carver,  live  here  ?"  the  prince  en- 
quired. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "  Gross,  the  stone-cutter.  Have 
you  engaged  rooms  here  ?" 

"  We  wrote  from  Tegernsee  for  lodgings.  The  Countess 
von  Wildenau,"  answered  the  prince. 

"  Oh  yes,  yes !  Everything  is  ready  !  The  lady  will 
lodge  with  us ;  the  carriage  and  servants  can  go  to  the  old 
post-house.  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good  evening,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  I  am  sorry  you  have  had  such  bad  weather. 
But  we  have  a  great  deal  of  rain  here." 

The  prince  alighted — the  water  splashed  high  under  his 
feet. 

"  Oh  Sephi,  bring  a  board,  quick ;  the  countess  cannot 
get  out  here !"  cried  the  old  man  with  eager  deprecation  of 
the  discomfort  threatening  the  lady.  Sephi,  the  tall,  thin 
woman,  dragged  a  plank  from  the  garden,  while  a  one-eyed 
dog  began  to  bark  furiously. 

The  plank  was  laid  down,  but  instantly  sunk  under  the 
water,  and  the  countess  was  obliged  to  wade  through  the 
flood.  As  she  alighted,  she  felt  as  if  she  should  strike  her 
head  against  the  edge  of  the  overhanging  roof — the  house  was 
so  low.  Fresco  paintings,  dark  with  age,  appeared  to  stretch 
and  writhe  in  distorted  shapes  in  the  flickering  light.  The 
place  seemed  more  and  more  dismal  to  the  countess. 

"  Shall  I  carry  you  across  ?"  asked  the  prince. 

"  Oh  no !"  she  answered  reprovingly,  while  her  little  foot 
sought  the  bottom  of  the  pool.  The  ice-cold  water  covered 
her  delicate  boot  to  the  ankle.  She  had  been  so  full  of  eager 
anticipation,  in  such  a  poetic  mood,  and  prosaic  reality  dealt 
her  a  blow  in  the  face.  She  shivered  as  she  walked  silently 
through  the  water. 

"  Come  in,  your  rooms  are  ready,"  said  the  old  man  cheer- 
ingly. 

They  passed  through  a  kitchen  black  with  myriads  of  flies, 


OLD   AMMERGAU.  9 

into  an  apartment  formerly  used  as  the  workshop,  now  con- 
verted into  a  parlor.  Two  children  were  asleep  on  an  old 
torn  sofa.  In  one  corner  lay  sacks  of  straw,  prepared  for 
couches,  the  owners  of  the  house  considered  it  a  matter  01 
course  that  they  should  have  no  beds  during  the  Passion.  A 
smoking  kerosene  lamp  hung  from  the  dark  worm-eaten 
wooden  ceiling,  diffusing  more  smoke  than  light.  The  room 
was  so  low  that  the  countess  could  scarcely  stand  erect,  and 
besides  the  ceiling  had  sunk — in  the  dim,  smoke-laden  at- 
mosphere the  beams  threatened  to  fall  at  any  moment. 

A  sense  of  suffocation  oppressed  the  new-comer.  She  was 
utterly  exhausted,  chilled,  nervous  to  the  verge  of  weeping. 
Her  white  teeth  chattered.  She  shivered  with  cold  and  dis- 
,  comfort.  Her  host  opened  a  low  door  into  a  small  room  con- 
taining two  beds,  a  table,  an  old-fashioned  dark  cupboard, 
and  two  chairs. 

"There,"  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  great  satisfaction,  "that 
is  your  chamber.  Now  you  can  rest,  and  if  you  want  any- 
thing, you  need  only  call  and  one  of  my  daughters  will 
come  in  and  wait  upon  you." 

"  Yes,  my  good  fellow,  but  where  am  /  to  lodge  ?"  asked 
the  prince. 

"  Oh — then  you  don't  belong  together  ?  In  that  case  the 
countess  must  sleep  with  another  lady,  and  the  gentleman  up 
here." 

He  pointed  to  a  little  stair-case  in  the  corner  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  in  old  peasant  houses,  led  from  one 
room  through  a  trap-door  into  another  directly  above  it. 

"  But  I  can't  sleep  there,  it  would  inconvenience  the  lady," 
said  the  prince.  "  Have  you  no  other  rooms  ?" 

"Why  yes;  but  they  are  engaged  for  to-morrow,"  re- 
plied Andreas  Gross,  while  the  two  sisters  stood  staring  help- 
lessly. 

"Then  give  me  the  rooms  and  send  the  other  people 
away." 

"  Oh !    I  can't  do  that,  sir. — They  are  promised." 

"  Good  Heavens !    I'll  pay  you  twice,  ten  times  as  much." 

"  Why,  sir,  if  you  paid  me  twenty  times  the  price,  I  could 
not  do  it ;  I  must  not  break  my  promise !"  said  the  old  man 
with  gentle  firmness. 


10  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  Ah,"  thought  the  prince,  "  he  wants  to  screw  me — but 
I'll  manage  that.  Countess,  excuse  me  a  few  minutes  while  I 
look  for  another  lodging." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  try  to  find  one  for  me,  too.  I  would 
rather  spend  the  night  in  the  carriage  than  stay  here !"  replied 
the  countess  in  French. 

"Yes,  it  is  horrible!  but  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  find 
something  better.  Good-bye !"  he  answered  in  the  same  lan- 
guage. 

"  Don't  leave  me  alone  with  these  people  too  long.  Come 
back  soon;  I  am  afraid,"  she  added,  still  using  the  French 
tongue. 

"  Really  ?"  the  prince  answered,  laughing ;  but  a  ray  ol 
pleasure  sparkled  in  his  eyes. 

Meanwhile,  the  little  girl  who  was  asleep  on  the  sofa  had 
waked  and  now  came  into  the  room. 

The  countess  requested  every  one  to  retire  that  she  might 
rest,  and  the  peasants  modestly  withdrew.  But  when  she 
tried  to  fasten  the  door,  it  had  neither  lock  nor  bolt,  only  a 
little  wire  hook  which  slipped  into  a  loose  ring. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  startled.     "  I  cannot  lock  it." 

"You  need  have  no  anxiety,"  replied  the  old  man  sooth- 
ingly, "  we  sleep  in  the  next  room."  But  the  vicinity  of  those 
strange  people,  when  she  could  not  lock  the  door,  was  exactly 
what  the  countess  feared. 

She  slipped  the  miserable  wire  hook  into  its  fastening  and 
sat  down  on  one  of  the  beds,  which  had  no  mattresses  — 
nothing  but  sacking. 

Covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  gave  free  course  to 
indignant  tears.  She  still  wore  her  hat  and  cloak,  which  she 
had  not  ventured  to  take  off,  from  a  vague  feeling  of  being 
encompassed  by  perils  whence  she  might  need  to  fly  at  any 
moment.  In  such  a  situation,  surely  it  was  safer  not  to  lay 
aside  one's  wraps.  If  the  worst  came,  she  would  remain  so 
all  night.  To  go  to  bed  in  a  house  where  the  roof  might  fall 
and  such  strange  figures  were  stealing  about,  was  too  great  a 
risk.  Beside  the  bed  on  which  the  countess  sat  was  a  door, 
which,  amid  all  the  terrors,  she  had  not  noticed.  Now  it 
seemed  as  though  she  heard  a  scraping  noise  like  the  filing  ol 
iron.  Then  came  hollow  blows  and  a  peculiar  rattling.  Hor- 


OLD   AMMERGAU.  II 

rible,  incomprehensible  sounds!  Now  a  blow  fell  upon  the 
door,  whose  fastening  was  little  better  than  the  other.  And  now 
another. 

"  The  very  powers  of  hell  are  let  loose  here,"  cried  the 
countess,  starting  up.  Her  cold,  wet  feet  seemed  paralyzed, 
her  senses  were  on  the  verge  of  failing.  And  she  was  alone  in 
this  terrible  strait.  Where  were  the  servants  ?  Perhaps  they 
had  been  led  astray,  robbed  and  murdered — and  meanwhile 
the  storm  outside  was  raging  in  all  its  fury. 

There  came  another  attempt  to  burst  the  door  which,  under 
two  crashing  blows,  began  to  yield.  The  countess,  as  if  in  a 
dream,  rushed  to  the  workshop  and,  almost  fainting,  called  to 
her  aid  the  uncanny  people  there — one  terror  against  another. 
With  blanched  lips  she  told  them  that  some  one  had  entered 
the  house,  that  some  madman  or  fugitive  from  justice  was  try- 
ing to  get  in. 

"  Oh !  that  is  nothing,"  said  Andreas,  with  what  seemed  to 
the  terrified  woman  a  fiendish  smile,  and  walking  straight  to 
the  door,  while  the  countess  shrieked  aloud,  opened  it,  and — 
a  head  was  thrust  in.  A  mild,  big,  stupid  face  stared  at  the 
light  with  wondering  eyes  and  snorted  from  wide  pink  nostrils 
at  the  strange  surroundings.  A  bay  horse — a  good  natured 
cart  horse  occupied  the  next  room  to  the  Countess  Wildenau  ! 

"  You  see  the  criminal.  H  e  is  a  cribber,  that  is  the  cause 
of  the  horrible  noises  you  heard." 

The  trembling  woman  stared  at  the  mild,  stupid  equine  face 
as  though  it  was  a  heavenly  vision — yet  spite  of  her  relief  and 
much  as  she  loved  horses,  she  could  not  have  gone  to  bed 
comfortably,  since  as  the  door  was  already  half  broken  down 
by  the  elephantine  hoofs  of  the  worthy  brute,  there  was  a 
chance  that  during  the  night,  lured  by  the  aromatic  odor  of 
the  sea-weed,  which  formed  the  stuffing  of  the  bed,  the  bay 
might  mistake  the  countess'  couch  for  a  manger  and  rouse  her 
somewhat  rudely  with  his  snuffing  muzzle. 

"  Oh,  we'll  make  that  all  right  at  once,"  said  Andreas. 
"  We'll  fasten  him  so  that  he  can't  get  free  again,  and  the 
carter  comes  at  four  in  the  morning,  then  you  will  not  be  dis- 
turbed any  more." 

"  After  not  having  closed  my  eyes  all  night,"  murmured 
the  countess,  following  the  old  man  to  see  that  he  fastened  the 


12  ON  THE   CROSS. 

horse  securely.  Yes,  the  room  which  opened  from  here  by  a 
door  with  neither  lock  nor  threshold  was  a  stable.  Several 
frightened  hens  flew  from  the  straw — this,  too.  "  When  the 
horse  has  left  the  stable  the  cocks  will  begin  to  crow.  What  a 
night  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day!"  The  old  man  smiled 
with  irritating  superiority,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  way  in  the  country." 

"  No,  I  won't  stay  here — I  would  rather  spend  the  night 
in  the  carriage.  How  can  people  exist  in  this  place,  even  for 
a  day,"  thought  the  countess. 

"  Won't  you  have  something  to  eat  ?  Shall  my  daughter 
make  a  schmarren  ?"  * 

"  A  schmarren !  In  that  kitchen,  with  those  flies."  The 
countess  felt  a  sense  of  loathing. 

"  No,  thank  you."  Even  if  she  was  starving,  she  could 
not  eat  a  mouthful  in  this  place. 

The  bay  was  at  last  tied  and,  for  want  of  other  occupation, 
continued  to  gnaw  his  crib  and  to  suck  the  air,  a  proceeding 
terribly  trying  to  the  nerves  of  his  fair  neighbor  in  the  next 
room.  At  last — oh  joy,  deliverance— the  second  carriage  rat- 
tled up  to  the  house,  bringing  the  maid  and  the  courier. 

"  Come  in,  come  in  !"  called  the  countess  from  the  win- 
dow. "  Don't  have  any  of  the  luggage  taken  off.  I  shall  not 
stay  here." 

The  two  servants  entered  with  flushed  faces. 

"  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been  so  long  ?"  asked  their 
mistress,  imperiously,  glad  to  be  able,  at  last,  to  vent  her  ill- 
humor  on  some  one. 

"  The  driver  missed  the  way,"  stammered  the  courier, 
casting  a  side  glance  at  the  blushing  maid.  The  countess 
perceived  the  situation  at  a  glance  and  was  herself  again.  Fear 
and  timidity,  all  her  nervous  weakness  vanished  before  the 
pride  of  the  offended  mistress,  who  had  been  kept  waiting  an 
hour,  at  whose  close  the  tardy  servants  entered  with  faces 
whose  confusion  plainly  betrayed  that  so  long  a  delay  was 
needless. 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  feminine  fears  for- 
gotten in  the  pride  of  the  lady  of  rank. 

*  A  dish  made  of  flour  and  water  fried  in  hot  lard,  but  so  soft  that  it  is 
necessary  to  serve  and  eat  it  with  a  spoon. 


OLD   AMMERGAU.  13 

"  Courier,  you  are  dismissed — not  another  word !" 

"Then  I  beg  Your  Highness  to  discharge  me,  too,"  said  the 
excited  maid,  thite  betraying  herself.  A  contemptuous  glance 
from  the  countess  rested  upon  the  culprit,  but  without  hesita- 
tion, she  said,  quietly : 

"  Very  well.  You  can  both  go  to  the  steward  for  your 
wages.  Good  evening." 

Both  left  the  room  pale  and  silent.  They  had  not  expected 
this  dismissal,  but  they  knew  their  mistress'  temper  and  were 
aware  that  not  another  word  would  be  allowed,  that  no  excuse 
or  entreaty  would  avail.  The  countess,  too,  was  in  no  pleasant 
mood.  She  was  left  here  —  without  a  maid.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  would  be  obliged  to  wait  upon  herself,  un- 
pack all  those  huge  trunks  and  bags.  How  could  she  do  it  ? 
She  was  so  cold  and  so  weary,  too,  and  she  did  not  even  know 
which  of  the  numerous  bags  contained  dry  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. Was  she  to  pull  out  everything,  when  she  must  do  the 
repacking  herself?  For  now  she  must  certainly  go  to  another 
house,  among  civilized  people,  where  she  could  have  servants 
and  not  be  so  utterly  alone.  Oh,  if  only  she  had  not  come  to 
this  Ammergau — it  was  a  horrible  place  !  One  would  hardly 
purchase  the  salvation  of  the  world  at  the  cost  of  such  an 
evening.  It  was  terrible  to  be  in  this  situation — and  without 
a  maid ! 

And,  as  trivial  things  find  even  the  loftiest  women  faint- 
hearted because  they  are  matters  of  nerve,  and  not  of  char- 
acter, the  lady  who  had  just  confronted  her  servants  so 
haughtily  sank  down  on  the  bed  again  and  wept  like  a  child. 

Some  one  tapped  lightly  on  the  door  of  the  workshop. 
The  countess  opened  it,  and  the  short,  stout  sister  timidly 
entered. 

"  Pardon  me,  Your  Highness,  we  have  just  heard  that  you 
have  discharged  your  maid  and  courier,  so  I  wanted  to  ask 
whether  my  sister  or  I  could  be  of  any  service  ?  Perhaps  we 
might  unpack  a  little  ?" 

"  Thank  you — I  don't  wish  to  spend  the  night  here  and 
hope  that  my  companion  will  bring  news  that  he  has  found 
other  accommodations.  I  will  pay  whatever  you  ask,  but  I 
can't  possibly  stay.  Ask  your  father  what  he  charges,  I'll 
give  whatever  you  wish — only  let  me  go." 


14  ON   THE   CROSS. 

The  old  man  was  summoned. 

"  Why  certainly,  Countess,  you  can  be  entirely  at  ease  on 
that  score ;  if  you  don't  like  staying  with  us,  that  need  not 
trouble  you.  You  will  have  nothing  to  pay — only  you  must 
be  quick  or  you  will  find  no  lodgings,  they  are  very  hard  to 
get  now." 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  have  some  compensation.  Just  tell 
me  what  I  am  to  give." 

"  Nothing,  Countess.  We  do  not  receive  payment  for 
what  is  not  eaten !"  replied  Andreas  Gross  with  such  im- 
pressive firmness  that  the  lady  looked  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. "  The  Ammergau  people  do  not  make  a  business  of 
renting  lodgings,  Countess ;  that  is  done  only  by  the  foreign 
speculators  who  wish  to  make  a  great  deal  of  money  at  this 
time,  and  alas !  bring  upon  Ammergau  the  reputation  of  ex- 
tortion !  We  natives  of  the  village  do  it  for  the  sake  of  having 
as  many  guests  witness  the  play  as  possible,  ard  are  glad  if  we 
meet  our  expenses.  We  expect  nothing  more." 

The  countess  suddenly  saw  the  "  hang-dog"  face  in  a  very 
different  light !  It  must  have  been  the  dusk  which  had  de- 
ceived her.  She  now  thought  it  an  intellectual  and  noble  one, 
nay  the  wrinkled  countenance,  the  long  grey  locks,  and  clear, 
penetrating  eyes  had  an  aspect  of  patriarchal  dignity.  She 
suddenly  realized  that  these  people  must  have  had  the  masks 
which  their  characters  require  bestowed  by  nature,  not  painted 
with  rouge,  and  thus  the  traits  of  the  past  unconsciously  be- 
came impressed  upon  the  features.  In  the  same  way,  among 
professional  actors,  the  performer  who  takes  character  roles 
can  easily  be  distinguished  from  the  lover. 

"  Do  you  act  too  ?"  she  asked  with  interest. 

"  I  act  Dathan,  the  Jewish  trader,"  he  said  proudly.  "  I 
have  been  in  the  Play  sixty  years,  for  when  I  was  a  child 
three  years  old  I  sat  in  Eve's  lap  in  the  tableaux."  The 
countess  could  not  repress  a  smile  and  old  Andreas'  face  also 
brightened. 

The  little  girl,  a  daughter  of  the  short,  plump  woman, 
peeped  through  the  half  open  door,  gazing  with  sparkling 
eyes  at  the  lovely  lady. 

"  Whose  child  is  the  little  one  ?"  asked  the  countess,  no- 
ticing her  soft  curls  and  beaming  eyes. 


OLD    AMMERGAU.  .  15 

"  She  is  my  grand-daughter,  the  child  of  my  daughter,  Anna. 
Her  father  was  a  foreigner.  He  ran  away,  leaving  his  wife 
and  two  children  in  poverty.  So  I  took  them  all  three  into 
my  house  again." 

The  countess  looked  at  the  old  man's  thin,  worn  figure,- 
and  then  at  the  plump  mother  and  child. 

"Who  supports  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  help  one  another,"  replied  Andreas  evasively. 
"  We  all  work  together.  My  son,  the  drawing  teacher,  does 
a  great  deal  for  us,  too.  We  could  not  manage  without  him." 
Then  interrupting  himself  with  a  startled  look,  as  if  he  might 
have  been  overheard,  he  added,  "  but  I  ought  not  to  have  said 
that — he  would  be  very  angry  if  he  knew." 

"  You  appear  to  be  a  little  afraid  of  your  son,"  said  the 
countess. 

"  Yes,  yes — he  is  strict,  very  strict  and  proud,  but  a  good 
son." 

The  old  man's  eyes  sparkled  with  love  and  pride. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  countess  eagerly. 

"Oh,  he  never  allows  strangers  to  see  him  if  he  can 
avoid  it." 

"  Does  he  act,  too?" 

"  No ;  he  arranges  the  tableaux,  and  it  needs  the  ability  of 
a  field  marshal,  for  he  is  obliged  to  command  two  or  three 
hundred  people,  and  he  keeps  them  together  and  they  obey 
him  as  though  he  was  a  general." 

"  He  must  be  a  very  interesting  person." 

At  that  moment  the  prince's  step  was  heard  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?" 

"  Yes,  Prince." 

He  entered,  dripping  with  rain. 

"  I  found  nothing  except  one  little  room  for  myself,  in  a 
hut  even  worse  than  this.  All  the  large  houses  are  filled  to 
overflowing.  Satan  himself  brought  us  among  these  con- 
founded peasants !"  he  said  angrily  in  French. 

"  Don't  speak  so,"  replied  the  countess  earnestly  in  the 
same  language.  "  They  are  saints."  The  little  girl  whispered 
to  her  mother. 

"Please  excuse  me,  Sir;  but  my  child  understands  French 


1 6  ON   THE    CROSS. 

and  has  just  told  me  that  you  could  get  no  room  for  the  lady," 
said  Andreas'  daughter  timidly.  "  I  know  where  there  is  one 
in  a  very  pretty  house  near  by.  I  will  run  over  as  quickly  as 
I  can  and  see  if  it  is  still  vacant.  If  you  could  secure  it  you 
would  find  it  much  better  than  ours."  She  hurried  towards 
the  door. 

"  Stop,  woman,"  called  the  prince,  "  you  cannot  possibly 
go  out;  the  rain  is  pouring  in  torrents,  and  another  shower  is 
rising." 

"  Yes,  stay,"  cried  the  countess,  "  wait  till  the  storm  is 
over." 

"  Oh,  no !  lodgings  are  being  taken  every  minute,  we  must 
not  lose  an  instant."  The  next  moment  she  threw  a  shawl  over 
her  head  and  left  the  house.  She  was  just  running  past  the 
low  window— a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  illumined  the  room, 
making  the  little  bent  figure  stand  forth  like  a  silhouette.  A 
peal  of  thunder  quickly  followed. 

"  The  storm  is  just  over  us,"  said  the  prince  with  kindly 
anxiety.  "  We  ought  not  to  have  let  her  go." 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  old  man  smiling, 
"  she  is  glad  to  do  it." 

"  Tell  me  about  these  strange  people,"  the  prince  began, 
but  the  countess  motioned  to  him  that  the  child  understood 
French.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  comical  expression  as  if  he 
wanted  to  say:  "These  are  queer  'natives'  who  give  their 
children  so  good  an  education." 

The  countess  went  to  the  window,  gazing  uneasily  at  the 
raging  storm.  A  feeling  of  self-reproach  stole  into  her  heart 
for  having  let  the  kind  creature  go  out  amid  this  uproar  of  the 
elements.  Especially  when  these  people  would  take  no  com- 
pensation and  therefore  lost  a  profit,  if  another  lodging  was 
found. 

It  was  her  loss,  and  yet  she  showed  this  cheerful  alacrity. 

The  little  party  had  now  entered  the  living  room.  The 
countess  sat  on  the  window  sill,  while  flash  after  flash  of  light- 
ning blazed,  and  peal  after  peal  crashed  from  the  sky.  She  no 
longer  thought  of  herself,  only  of  the  poor  woman  outside. 
The  little  girl  wept  softly  over  her  poor  mother's  exposure  to 
the  storm,  and  slipped  to  the  door  to  wait  for  her.  The  prince, 
shivering,  sat  on  the  bench  by  the  stove.  Gross,  noticing  it, 


OLD   AMMERGAU.  17 

put  on  more  fuel  "  that  the  gentleman  might  dry  himself."  A 
bright  fire  was  soon  crackling  in  the  huge  green  stove,  the  main 
support  of  the  sunken  ceiling. 

"  Pray  charge  the  fuel  to  me,"  said  the  prince,  ashamed. 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"  How  you  gentle-folks  want  to  pay  for  everything.  We 
should  have  needed  a  fire  ourselves."  With  these  words  he 
left  the  room.  The  thin  sister  now  thought  it  desirable  not  to 
disturb  the  strangers  and  also  went  out. 

"  Tell  me,  Countess,"  the  prince  began,  leaning  comfort- 
ably against  the  warm  stove,  "  may  I  perfume  this,  by  no 
means  agreeable,  atmosphere  with  a  cigarette  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  had  forgotten  that  there  were  such  things  as 
cigarettes  in  the  world." 

"  So  it  seems  to  me,"  said  the  prince,  coolly.  "  Tell  me, 
cherc  amie,  now  that  you  have  duly  enjoyed  all  the  tremors  of 
this  romantic  situation,  how  should  you  like  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  Tea  ?  "  said  the  countess,  looking  at  him  as  if  just  roused 
from  a  dream,  "  tea! " 

"  Yes,  tea,"  persisted  the  prince.  "  My  poor  friend,  you 
must  have  lived  an  eternity  in  this  one  hour  among  these  'sav- 
ages '  to  have  already  lost  the  memory  of  one  of  the  best 
products  of  civilization." 

"  Tea,"  repeated  the  countess,  who  now  realized  her  ex- 
haustion, "that  would  be  refreshing,  but  I  don't  know  how  to 
get  it,  I  sent  the  maid  away." 

"  Yes,  I  met  the  dismissed  couple  in  a  state  of  utter  despair. 
And  I  can  imagine  that  my  worshipped  Countess  Madeleine — 
the  most  pampered  and  spoiled  of  all  the  children  of  fortune 
and  the  fashionable  world — does  not  know  how  to  help  her-j 
self.  I  am  by  no  means  sorry,  for  I  shall  profit  by  it.  I  can 
now  pose  as  a  kind  Providence.  What  good  luck  for  a  lover! 
is  it  not?  So  permit  me  to  supply  the  maid's  place — so  far  as 
this  is  practicable.  I  have  tea  with  me  and  my  valet  whom, 
thank  Heaven,  I  was  not  obliged  to  send  away,  is  waiting 
your  order  to  serve  it." 

"  How  kind  you  are,  Prince.  But  consider  that  kitchen 
filled  with  flies." 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  feel  uncomfortable  on  that  score.  You 
are  evidently  unused  to  the  mountains.  I  know  these  flies, 


1 8  ON    THE    CROSS. 

they  are  different  from  our  city  ones  and  possess  a  peculiar 
skill  in  keeping  out  of  food.     Try  it  for  once." 

"  Yes,  but  we  must  first  ascertain  whether  I  can  get  the 
other  room,"  said  the  countess,  again  lapsing  into  despond- 
ency. 

"  My  dearest  Countess,  does  that  prevent  our  taking  any 
refreshment  ?  Don't  be  so  spiritless,"  said  the  prince  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  to  laugh.  The  situation  is  tragical 
enough,  I  assure  you." 

"  Tragical  enough  to  pay  for  the  trouble  of  developing  a 
certain  grandeur  of  soul,  but  not,  in  true  womanly  fashion,  to 
lose  all  composure." 

The  prince  shook  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette  and  went  to 
the  door  to  order  the  valet  to  serve  the  tea.  When  he  returned, 
the  countess  suddenly  came  to  meet  him,  held  out  her  hand, 
and  said  with  a  bewitching  smile  : 

"Prince,  you  are  charming  to-day,  and  I  am  unbearable. 
I  thank  you  for  the  patience  you  have  shown." 

"  Madeleine,"  he  replied,  controlling  his  emotion,  "if  I  did 
not  know  your  kind  heart,  I  should  believe  you  a  Circe,  who 
delighted  in  driving  men  mad.  Were  it  not  for  my  cold,  sober 
reason,  which  you  always  emphasize,  I  should  now  mistake  for 
love  the  feeling  which  makes  you  meet  me  so  graciously,  and 
thus  expose  myself  to  disappointment.  But  reason  plainly  shows 
that  it  is  merely  the  gratitude  of  a  kind  heart  for  a  trivial  serv- 
ice rendered  in  an  unpleasant  situation,  and  I  am  too  proud 
to  do,  in  earnest,  what  I  just  said  in  jest — profit  by  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

The  countess,  chilled  and  ashamed,  drew  her  hand  back. 
There  spoke  the  dry,  prosaic,  commonplace  man.  Had  he 
now  understood  how  to  profit  by  her  mood  when,  in  her  help- 
less condition,  he  appeared  as  a  deliverer  in  the  hour  of  need, 
who  knows  what  might  have  happened!  But  this  was  pre- 
cisely what  he  disdained.  The  experienced  man  of  the  world 
knew  women  well  enough  to  be  perfectly  aware  how  easily  one 
may  be  won  in  a  moment  of  nervous  depression,  desperate  per- 
plexity and  helplessness,  yet  though  ever  ready  to  enjoy  every 
piquant  situation,  nevertheless  or  perhaps  for  that  very  reason 
he  was  too  proud  to  owe  to  an  accident  of  this  kind  the  wo- 


OLD    AMMERGAU.  19 

man  whom  he  had  chosen  for  the  companion  of  his  life.  The 
countess  felt  this  and  was  secretly  glad  that  he  had  spared  her 
and  himself  a  disappointment. 

"That  is  the  way  with  women,"  he  said  softly,  gazing  at 
her  with  an  almost  compassionate  expression.     "  For  the  mess, 
of  pottage  of  an  agreeable  situation,  they  will  sell  the  birthright 
of  their  most  sacred  feelings." 

"That  is  a  solemn,  bitter  tnith,  such  as  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  hear  from  your  lips,  Prince.  But  however  deep  may 
be  the  gulf  of  realism  whence  you  have  drawn  this  experience, 
you  shall  not  find  it  confirmed  in  me." 

"  That  is,  you  will  punish  me  henceforth  by  your  coldness, 
while  you  know  perfectly  well  that  it  was  the  sincerity  of  my 
regard  for  you  which  prompted  my  act.  Countess,  that  ven- 
geance would  be  unworthy ;  a  woman  like  you  ought  not  to 
sink  to  the  petty  sensitiveness  of  ordinary  feminine  vanity." 

"  Oh,  Prince,  you  are  always  right,  and,  believe  me,  if  I 
carried  my  heart  in  my  head  instead  of  in  my  breast,  that  is, 
if  we  could  love  with  the  intellect,  I  should  have  been  yours 
long  ago,  but  alas,  my  friend,  it  is  so  far  from  the  head  to  the 
heart." 

The  Prince  lighted  another  cigarette.  No  one  could  de- 
tect what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "  So  much  the  worse  for 
me !"  he  said  coldly,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

At  that  moment  a  sheet  of  flame  filled  the  room,  and  the 
crashing  thunder  which  followed  sounded  as  if  the  ceiling  hail 
fallen  and  buried  everything  under  it.  The  countess  seemed 
bewildered. 

"  Mother,  mother !"  shrieked  a  voice  outside.  People  gath- 
ered in  the  street,  voices  were  heard,  shouts,  hurrying  foot- 
steps and  the  weeping  of  the  little  girl.  The  prince  sprang  out 
of  the  window,  the  countess  regained  her  consciousness — of 
what  ? 

"  Some  one  has  been  struck  by  lightning."  She  hastened 
out. 

A  senseless  figure  was  brought  in  and  laid  on  the  bench  in 
the  entry.  It  was  the  kind-hearted  little  creature  whom  her 
caprice  had  sent  into  the  storm — perhaps  to  her  death.  There 
she  lay  silent  and  pale,  with  closed  lids;  her  hands  were  cold 
her  features  sharp  and  rigid  like  those  of  a  corpse,  but  her 


20  ON  THE   CROSS. 

heart  still  throbbed  under  her  drenched  gown.  The  count- 
ess asked  the  prince  to  bring  cologne  and  smelling  salts  from 
her  satchel  and  skillfully  applied  the  remedies;  the  prince 
helped  her  rub  the  arteries  while  she  strove  to  restore  con- 
sciousness with  the  sharp  essences.  Meanwhile  the  other  sister 
soothed  the  weeping  child.  Andreas  Gross  poured  a  few  drops 
of  some  liquid  from  a  dusty  flask  into  the  sufferer's  mouth,  say- 
ing quietly,  "  You  must  not  be  so  much  frightened,  I  am  some- 
thing of  a  doctor ;  it  is  only  a  severe  fainting  fit.  The  other  is 
worse." 

"Were  two  persons  struck  ?"  asked  the  countess  in  horror. 

"Yes,  one  of  the  musicians,  the  first  violin." 

A  sudden  thought  darted  through  the  countess'  brain,  and 
a  feeling  of  dread  stole  over  her  as  if  there  was  in  Ammergau 
a  beloved  life  for  which  she  must  tremble.  Yet  she  knew  no 
one. 

"  Please  bring  a  shawl  from  my  room,"  she  said  to  the 
prince,  and  when  he  had  gone,  she  asked  quickly  :  "Tell  me, 
is  the  musician  tall  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"Has  he  long  black  hair  ?" 

"  No,  he  is  fair,"  replied  the  old  man. 

The  countess,  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  remained  silent,  the 
prince  returned.  The  sick  woman  opened  her  eyes  and  a  faint 
moan  escaped  her  lips. 

"  Here  will  be  a  fine  scene,"  thought  the  prince.  "  Plenty 
of  capital  can  be  made  out  of  such  a  situation.  My  lovely 
friend  will  outweigh  every  tear  with  a  gold  coin." 

After  a  short  time  the  woman  regained  sufficient  conscious- 
ness to  realize  her  surroundings  and  tried  to  lift  her  feet  from 
the  bench.  "  Oh,  Countess,  you  will  tax  yourself  too  much. 
Please  go  in,  there  is  a  strong  draught  here." 

"Yes,  but  you  must  come  with  me,"  said  the  countess,  "try 
whether  you  can  use  your  feet." 

It  was  vain,  she  tried  to  take  a  step,  but  her  feet  refused  to 
obey  her  will. 

"  Alas  ! "  cried  the  countess  deeply  moved.  "  She  is  par- 
alyzed— and  it  is  my  fault." 

Anna  gently  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  "Pray 
don't  distress  yourself,  Countess,  it  will  pass  away.  I  am  only 


OLD   AMMERGAU.  21 

sorry  that  I  have  caused  you  such  a  fright."  She  tried  to 
smile,  the  ugly  face  looked  actually  beautiful  at  that  moment, 
and  the  tones  of  her  voice,  whose  tremor  she  strove  to  conceal, 
was  so  touching  as  she  tried  to  comfort  and  soothe  the  self- 
reproach  of  the  woman  who  had  caused  the  misfortune  that 
tears  filled  the  countess'  eyes. 

"  How  wise  she  is,"  said  the  prince,  marvelling  at  such 
delicacy  and  feeling. 

"  Come,"  said  the  countess,  "  we  must  get  her  into  the 
warm  rooms." 

Andreas  Gross,  and  at  a  sign  from  the  prince,  the  valet, 
carried  the  sick  woman  in  and  laid  her  on  the  bench  by  the 
stove.  The  countess  held  her  icy  hand,  while  tears  streamed 
steadily  down  the  sufferer's  cheeks. 

"  Do  you  feel  any  pain  ?  "  asked  the  lady  anxiously. 

"  No,  oh  no — but  I  can't  help  weeping  because  the  Count- 
ess is  so  kind  to  me — I  am  in  no  pain — no  indeed  !  "  She 
smiled  again,  the  touching  smile  which  seeks  to  console 
others. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  need  not  be  troubled, 
she  will  be  well  to-morrow." 

The  child  laid  her  head  lovingly  on  her  mother's  breast,  a 
singularly  peaceful  atmosphere  pervaded  the  room,  a  modest 
dignity  marked  the  bearing  of  the  poor  peasants.  The  prince 
and  the  countess  also  sat  in  thoughtful  silence.  Suddenly  the 
sick  woman  started  up,  "  Oh  dear,  I  almost  forget  the  main 
thing.  The  lady  can  have  the  lodgings.  Two  very  handsome 
rooms  and  excellent  attendance,  but  the  countess  must  go  at 
once  as  soon  as  the  shower  is  over.  They  will  be  kept  only 
an  hour.  More  people  will  arrive  at  ten." 

"  I  thank  you, "said  the  countess  with  a  strange  expression." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  need.  I  am  only  glad  I  secured  the 
rooms,  and  that  the  countess  can  have  attendance,"  replied  the 
sick  woman  joyously.  "  I  shall  soon  be  better,  then  I'll  show 
the  way." 

"  I  thank  you,"  repeated  the  countess  earnestly.  "  I  do 
not  want  the  rooms,  I  shall  stay  here." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  asked  the  prince  in 
amazement. 

"  Yes,  I  am  ashamed  that  I  was  so  foolish  this  evening. 


22  ON    THE    CROSS. 

Will  you  keep  me,  you  kind  people,  after  I  have  done  you  so 
much  injustice,  and  caused  you  such  harm." 

"  Oh  !  you  must  consult  your  own  pleasure.  We  shall  be 
glad  to  have  you  stay  with  us,  but  we  shall  take  no  offence,  if 
it  would  be  more  pleasant  for  you  elsewhere,"  said  the  old  man 
with  unruffled  kindness. 

"  Then  I  will  stay." 

"  That  is  a  good  decision,  Countess,"  said  the  prince.  "  You 
always  do  what  is  right."  He  beckoned  to  Sephi,  the  thin 
sister,  and  whispered  a  few  words.  She  vanished  in  the  count- 
ess' room,  returning  in  a  short  time  with  dry  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, which  she  had  found  in  one  of  the  travelling  satchels. 
The  prince  went  to  the  window  and  stood  there  with  his  back 
turned  to  the  room.  "  We  must  do  the  best  that  opportunity 
permits,"  he  said  energetically.  "  I  beg  your  highness  to  let 
this  lady  change  your  shoes  and  stockings.  I  am  answerable 
for  your  health,  not  only  to  myself,  but  to  society." 

The  countess  submitted  to  the  prince's  arrangement,  and 
the  little  ice-cold  feet  slid  comfortably  into  the  dry  coverings, 
which  Sephi  had  warmed  at  the  stove.  She  now  felt  as  if  she 
was  among  human  beings  and  gradually  became  more  at  ease. 
After  Sephi  had  left  the  room  she  walked  proudly  up  to  the 
prince  in  her  dry  slippers,  and  said :  "  Come,  Prince,  let  us  pace 
to  and  fro,  that  our  chilled  blood  may  circulate  once  more." 

The  prince  gracefully  offered  his  arm  and  led  her  up  and 
down  the  long  work-shop.  Madeleine  was  bewitching  at  that 
moment,  and  the  grateful  expression  of  her  animated  face 
suited  her  to  a  charm. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  thought,  "  or  I  shall  be  led  into  commit-, 
ting  some  folly  which  will  spoil  all  my  chances  with  her." 

CHAPTER  III. 


YOUNG   AMMERGAU. 


THE  valet  served  the  tea.  The  prince  had  provided  for 
everything,  remembered  everything.  He  had  even  brought 
English  biscuits. 

The  little  repast  exerted  a  very  cheering  influence  upon  the 
depressed  spirits  of  the  countess.  But  she  took  the  first  cup 


YOUNG    AMMERGAU.  £3 

to  the  invalid  who,  revived  by  the  unaccustomed  stimulant, 
rose  at  once,  imagining  that  a  miracle  had  been  wrought,  for 
she  could  walk  again.  The  Gross  family  now  left  the  room. 
The  prince  and  the  countess  sipped  their  tea  in  silence.  What 
were  they  to  say  when  the  valet,  who  always  accompanied  his 
master  on  his  journeys,  understood  all  the  languages  which 
the  countess  spoke  fluently  ? 

The  prince  was  grave  and  thoughtful.  After  they  had 
drank  the  tea,  he  kissed  her  hand.  "  Let  me  go  now — we 
must  both  have  rest,  you  for  your  nerves  and  1  for  my  feel- 
ings. I  wish  you  a  good  night's  sleep." 

"  Prince,  I  can  say  that  you  have  been  infinitely  charming 
to-day,  and  have  risen  much  in  my  esteem." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Countess,  though  a  trifle  depressed 
by  the  consciousness  that  I  owe  this  favor  to  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  pair  of  dry  slippers,"  replied  the  prince  with  apparent  com- 
posure. Then  he  took  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

And  this  is  love?  thought  the  countess,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  She  did  not  feel  at  all  in- 
clined to  sleep.  People  are  never  more  disposed  to  chat  than 
after  hardships  successfully  endured.  She  had  had  her  tea, 
had  been  warmed,  served,  and  tended.  For  the  first  time 
since  her  arrival  she  was  comfortable,  and  now  she  must  go 
to  bed.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  hour  when  she 
usually  drove  from  the  theatre  to  some  evening  entertainment. 

The  prince  had  gone  and  the  Gross  family  came  in  to  ask 
if  she  wanted  anything  more. 

"  No,  but  you  are  ready  to  go  to  bed,  and  I  ought  to  re- 
turn to  my  room,  should  I  not  ?  "  replied  the  countess. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  door  was  flung  open  and  a  head 
like  the  bronze  cast  of  the  bust  of  a  Roman  emperor  appeared. 
A  face  which  in  truth  seemed  as  if  carved  from  bronze,  keen 
eagle  eyes,  a  nose  slightly  hooked,  an  imperious,  delicately 
moulded  brow,  short  hair  combed  upward,  and  an  expression 
of  bitter,  sad,  but  irresistible  energy  on  the  compressed  lips. 
As  the  quick  eyes  perceived  the  countess,  the  head  was  drawn 
back  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  But  old  Gross,  proud  of 
his  son,  called  him  back. 

"  Come  in,  come  in  and  be  presented  to  this  lady,  people 
don't  run  away  so." 


24  ON    THE    CROSS. 

The  young  man,  somewhat  annoyed,  returned. 

"  My  son,  Ludwig,  principal  of  the  drawing  school,"  said 
old  Gross.  Lud wig's  artist  eyes  glided  over  the  countess;  she 
felt  the  glance  of  the  connoisseur,  knew  that  he  could  appre- 
ciate her  beauty.  What  a  delight  to  see  herself,  among  these 
simple  folk,  suddenly  reflected  in  an  artist's  eyes  and  find  that 
the  picture  came  back  beautiful.  How  happened  so  exquisite 
a  crystal,  which  can  be  polished  only  in  the  workshops  of  the 
highest  education  and  art,  to  be  in  such  surroudings  ?  The 
countess  noted  with  ever  increasing  amazement  the  striking 
face  and  the  proud  poise  of  the  head  on  the  small,  compact, 
yet  classically  formed  figure.  She  knew  at  the  first  moment 
that  this  was  a  man  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  she 
gave  him  her  hand  as  though  greeting  an  old  acquaintance 
from  the  kingdom  of  the  ideal.  It  seemed  as  if  she  must  ask: 
"  How  do  you  come  here  ?  " 

Ludwig  Gross  read  the  question  on  her  lips.  He  possessed 
the  vision  from  which  even  the  thoughts  must  be  guarded,  or 
he  would  guess  them. 

"  I  must  ask  your  pardon  for  disturbing  you.  I  have  just 
come  from  the  meeting  and  only  wanted  to  see  my  sister.  I 
heard  she  was  ill." 

"Oh,  I  feel  quite  well  again,"  the  latter  answered. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  countess  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  tone, 
"  you  will  be  vexed  with  the  intruder  who  has  brought  so 
much  anxiety  and  alarm  into  your  house  ?  I  reproach  myself 
for  being  so  foolish  as  to  have  wanted  another  lodging,  but  at 
first  I  thought  that  the  ceiling  would  fall  upon  me,  and  I  was 
afraid." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  that  perfectly  when  persons  are  not  ac- 
customed to  low  rooms.  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  become 
used  to  them  again  when  I  returned  from  Munich." 

'  You  were  at  the  Academy  ?" 

'  Yes,  Countess." 

'  Will  you  not  take  off  your  wet  coat  and  sit  down  ?" 

'  I  should  not  like  to  disturb  you,  Countess." 

'But  you  won't  disturb  meat  all;  come,  let  us  have  a  little 
chat." 

Ludwig  Gross  laid  his  hat  and  overcoat  aside,  took  a  chair, 
and  sat  down  opposite  to  the  lady.  Just  at  that  moment  a  car- 


YOUNG   AMMERGAU.  2$ 

riage  drove  up.  The  strangers  who  had  engaged  the  rooms 
refused  to  the  prince  had  arrived,  and  the  family  hastened  out 
to  receive  and  help  them.  The  countess  and  Ludwig  were 
left  alone. 

"  What  were  you  discussing  at  so  late  an  hour  ? "  asked 
the  countess. 

"  Doresentus  this  evening  two  engravings  of  his  two  Pas- 
sion pictures;  he  is  interested  in  our  play,  so  we  were  obliged 
to  discuss  the  best  way  of  expressing  our  gratitude  and  to  de- 
cide upon  the  place  where  they  shall  be  hung.  There  is  no 
time  for  such  consultations  during  the  day." 

"  Are  you  familiar  with  all  of  Dore's  pictures  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Countess." 

"  And  do  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  I  admire  him.  I  do  not  agree  with  him  in  every  particu- 
lar, but  he  is  a  genius,  and  genius  has  a  right  to  forgiveness 
for  faults  which  mediocrity  should  never  venture  to  commit, 
and  indeed  never  will." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  I  think,"  Ludwig  Gross  continued,  "  that  he  resembles 
Hamerling.  There  is  kinship  between  the  two  men.  Hamer- 
ling,  too,  repels  us  here  and  there,  but  with  him,  as  with  Dore, 
every  line  and  every  stroke  flashes  with  that  electric  spark 
which  belongs  only  to  the  genuine  work  of  art." 

His  companion  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

"You  have  read  Hamerling?" 

"  Certainly.     Who  is  not  familiar  with  his  '  Ahasuerus?'  "  * 

"  I,  for  instance,"  she  replied  with  a  faint  blush. 

"  Oh,  Countess,  you  must  read  it.  There  is  a  vigor,  an  acerb- 
ity, the  repressed  anguish  and  wrath  of  a  noble  nature  against 
the  pitifulness  of  mankind,  which  must  impress  every  one  upon 
whose  soul  the  questions  of  life  have  ever  cast  their  shadows, 
though  I  know  not  whether  this  is  the  case  with  you." 

"  More  than  is  perhaps  supposed,"  she  answered,  drawing 
a  long  breath.  "  We  are  all  pessimists,  but  Hamerling  must 
be  a  stronger  one  than  is  well  for  a  poet. " 

"  That  is  not  quite  correct,"  replied  Ludwig.    "  He  is  a  pes- 


*  A  drama.     Hamerling  is  better  known  in  America  as  the  author  of  his 
famous  novel  "  Aspasia." 


26  ON    THE    CROSS. 

simist  just  so  far  as  accords  with  the  poesy  of  our  age.  Did 
not  Auerbach  once  say:  'Pessimism  is  the  grief  of  the  world, 
which  has  no  more  tears ! '  This  applies  to  Hamerling,  also. 
His  poetry  has  that  bitter  flavor,  which  is  required  by  a  gen- 
eration that  has  passed  the  stage  when  sweets  please  the  palate 
and  tears  relieve  the  heart." 

"  Your  words  are  very  true.  But  how  do  you  explain — it 
would  be  interesting  to  hear  from  you — how  do  you  explain, 
in  this  mood  of  the  times,  the  attraction  which  draws  such 
throngs  to  the  Passion  Play  ?  " 

Ludwig  Gross  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  his  stern  brow 
relaxed  under  the  bright  influence  of  a  beautiful  thought. 

"  One  extreme,  as  is  well  known,  follows  another.  The 
human  heart  will  always  long  for  tears,  and  the  world's  tear- 
less anguish  will  therefore  yield  to  a  gentler  mood.  I  think 
that  the  rush  to  our  simple  play  is  a  symptom  of  this  change. 
People  come  here  to  learn  to  weep  once  more." 

The  countess  rested  her  clasped  hands  on  the  table  and 
gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  Ludwig  Gross.  Her  whole  nature 
was  kindled,  her  eyes  lingered  admiringly  upon  the  modest 
little  man,  who  did  not  seem  at  all  conscious  of  his  own  su- 
periority. "To  learn  to  weep  /"  she  repeated,  nodding  gently. 
"Yes,  AVC  might  all  need  that.  But  do  you  believe  we  shall 
learn  it  here  ?  " 

Ludwig  Gross  gazed  at  her  smiling.  "You  will  not  ask 
that  question  at  this  hour  on  the  evening  of  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. " 

He  seemed  to  her  a  physician  who  possessed  a  remedy 
which  he  knows  cannot  fail.  And  she  began  to  trust  him  like 
a  physician. 

"May  I  be  perfectly  frank?"  she  asked  in  a  winning  tone. 

"I  beg  that  you  will  be  so,  Countess." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  find  a  man  like  you  here.  I  had  not 
supposed  there  were  such  people  in  the  village.  But  you  were 
away  a  long  time,  you  are  probably  no  longer  a  representative 
citizen  of  Ammergau?" 

Ludwig  Gross  raised  his  head  proudly.  "Certainly  I  am, 
Countess.  If  there  was  ever  a  true  citizen  of  Ammergau,  I  am 
one.  Learn  to  know  us  better,  and  you  will  soon  be  convinced 
that  we  are  all  of  one  mind.  Though  one  has  perhaps  learned 


YOUNG    AMMERGAU.  ?7 

more  than  another,  that  is  a  mere  accident ;  the  same  purpose, 
the  same  idea,  unites  us  all." 

"  But  what  birtds  men  of  such  talent  to  this  remote  village  ? 
Are  you  married?" 

The  bitter  expression  around  the  artist's  mouth  deepened 
as  though  cut  by  some  invisible  instrument.  "  No,  Countess, 
my  circumstances  do  not  permit  it ;  I  have  renounced  this 
happiness." 

The  lady  perceived  that  she  had  touched  a  sensitive  spot, 
but  she  desired  to  probe  the  wound  to  learn  whether  it  might 
be  healed.  "  Is  your  salary  so  small  that  you  could  not 
support  a  family  ?" 

"  If  I  wish  to  aid  my  own  family,  and  that  is  certainly  my 
first  duty,  I  cannot  found  a  home." 

"  How  is  that  possible.  Does  so  rich  a  community  pay 
its  teacher  so  poorly  ?" 

"  It  does  as  well  as  it  can,  Countess.  It  has  fixed  a  salary 
of  twelve  hundred  marks  for  my  position ;  that  is  all  that  can 
be  expected." 

"  For  this  place,  yes.  But  if  you  were  in  Munich,  you 
would  easily  obtain  twice  or  three  times  as  much." 

"  Even  five  times,"  answered  Ludwig,  smiling.  "  I  had 
offers  from  two  art-industrial  institutes,  one  of  which  promised 
a  salary  of  four  thousand,  the  other  of  six  thousand  marks  per 
annum.  But  that  did  not  matter  when  the  most  sacred  duties 
to  my  home  were  concerned." 

"  But  these  are  superhuman  sacrifices.  Who  can  expect 
you  to  banish  yourself  here  and  resign  everything  which  the 
world  outside  would  lavish  upon  you  in  the  richest  measure  ? 
Everyone  must  consider  himself  first." 

"  Why,  Countess,  Ammergau  would  die  out  if  everybody 
was  of  that  opinion." 

"  Oh  !  let  those  remain  who  are  suited  to  the  place,  who 
have  learned  and  can  do  nothing  more.  But  men  of  talent 
and  education,  like  you,  who  can  claim  something  better,  be- 
long outside." 

"  On  the  contrary,  Countess,  they  belong  here,"  Ludwig 
eagerly  answered.  "  What  would  become  of  the  Passion  Play 
if  all  who  have  learned  and  can  do  something  should  go  away, 
and  only  the  uneducated  and  the  ignorant  remain  ?  Do  you 


2&  ON   THE    CROSS. 

suppose  that  there  are  not  a  number  of  people  here,  who,  ac- 
cording to  your  ideas,  would  have  deserved  '  a  better  fate  ?' 
We  have  enough  of  them,  but  go  among  us  and  learn  whether 
any  one  complains.  If  he  should,  he  would  be  unworthy  the 
name  of  a  son  of  Ammergau !"  He  paused  a  moment,  his 
bronzed  face  grew  darker.  "  Do  you  imagine,"  he  added, 
"  that  we  could  perform  such  a  work,  perform  it  in  a  manner 
which,  in  some  degree,  fulfills  the  aesthetic  demand  of  modern 
taste,  without  possessing,  in  our  midst,  men  of  intellect  and 
culture?  It  is  bad  enough  that  necessity  compels  many  a 
talented  native  of  Ammergau  to  seek  his  fortune  outside,  but 
the  man  to  whom  his  home  still  gives  even  a  bit  of  bread 
must  be  content  with  it,  and  without  thinking  of  what  he 
might  have  gained  outside,  devote  his  powers  to  the  ideal  in- 
terests of  his  fellow  citizens." 

"  That  is  a  grand  and  noble  thought,  but  I  don't  understand 
why  you  speak  as  if  the  people  of  Ammergau  were  so  poor. 
What  becomes  of  the  vast  sums  gained  by  the  Passion  Play  ?" 

Ludwig  Gross  smiled  bitterly.  "  I  expected  that  question, 
it  comes  from  all  sides.  The  Passion  Play  does  not  enrich  in- 
dividuals, for  the  few  hundred  marks,  more  or  less,  which  each 
of  the  six  hundred  actors  receives,  do  not  cover  the  deficit  of 
all  the  work  which  the  people  must  neglect.  The  revenue  is 
partly  consumed  by  the  expenses,  partly  used  for  the  common 
benefit,  for  schools  and  teachers.  The  principal  sums  are  swal- 
lowed by  the  Leine  and  the  Ammer !  The  ravages  of  these  mali- 
cious mountain  streams  require  means  which  our  community 
could  never  raise,  save  for  the  receipts  of  the  Passion  Play,  and 
even  these  are  barely  sufficient  for  the  most  needful  outlay." 

"  Is  it  possible?    Those  little  streams!"  cried  the  countess. 

"Would  flood  all  Ammergau,"  Gross  answered, "  if  we  did 
not  constantly  labor  to  prevent  it.  We  should  be  a  poor,  stunted 
people,  worn  down  by  fever,  our  whole  mountain  valley  would 
be  a  desolate  swamp.  The  Passion  Play  alone  saves  us  from 
destruction — the  Christ  who  once  ruled  the  waves  actually 
holds  back  from  us  the  destroying  element  which  would  grad- 
ually devour  land  and  people.  But,  for  that  very  reason,  the 
individual  has  learned  here,  as  perhaps  nowhere  else  in  the 
world,  to  live  and  sacrifice  himself  for  the  community  !  The 
community  is  comprised  to  us  in  the  idea  of  the  Passion  Play. 


YCUXG   AMMERGAU.  29 

AVe  know  that  our  existence  depends  upon  it,  even  our  intel- 
lectual life,  for  ij  protects  us  from  the  savagery  into  which  a 
people  continually  struggling  with  want  and  need  so  easily 
lapses.  It  raises  us  above  the  common  herd,  gives  even  the 
poorest  man  an  innate  dignity  and  self-respect,  which  never" 
suffer  him  to  sink  to  base  excesses." 

*f  I  understand  that,"  the  countess  answered. 

"  Then  can  you  wonder  that  not  one  of  us  hesitates  to  de- 
vote property,  life,  and  every  power  of  his  soul  to  this  work  ot 
saving  our  home,  our  poor,  oppressed  home,  ever  forced  to 
struggle  for  its  very  existence  ?" 

"  What  a  man!"  the  countess  involuntarily  exclaimed  aloud. 
Ludwig  Gross  had  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  as  if  to  re- 
strain the  pulsations  of  his  throbbing  heart.  His  whole  being 
thrilled  with  the  deepest,  noblest  emotions.  He  rose  and  took 
his  hat,  like  a  person  whose  principle  it  is  to  shut  every  emo- 
tion within  his  own  bosom,  and  when  a  mighty  one  over- 
powers him,  to  hide  himself  that  he  may  also  hide  the  feeling. 

"  No,"  cried  the  countess,  "  you  must  not  leave  me  so,  you 
rare,  noble-hearted  man.  You  have  just  done  me  the  greatest 
service  which  can  be  rendered.  You  have  made  my  heart  leap 
with  joy  at  the  discovery  of  a  genuine  human  being.  Ah !  it 
is  a  cordial  in  this  world  of  conventional  masks !  Give  me 
your  hand !  I  am  beginning  to  understand  why  Providence 
sent  me  here.  That  must  indeed  be  a  great  cause  which 
rears  such  men  and  binds  such  powers  in  its  service." 

Ludwig  Gross  once  more  stood  calm  and  quiet  before  her. 
"  I  thank  you,  Countess,  in  the  name  of  the  cause  for  which  I 
live  and  die."  I 

"  And,  in  the  name  of  that  cause,  which  I  do  not  under- 
stand, yet  dimly  apprehend,  I  beg  you,  let  us  be  friends.  Will 
you  ?  Clasp  hands  upon  it." 

A  kindly  expression  flitted  over  the  grave  man's  iron  coun- 
tenance, and  he  warmly  grasped  the  little  hand. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Countess." 

She  held  the  small,  slender  artist-hand  in  a  close  clasp, 
mournfully  reading  in  the  calm  features  of  the  stern,  noble  face 
the  story  of  bitter  suffering  and  sacrifice  graven  upon  it. 


30  ON    THE   CROSS. 

CHAPTER  IV. 


EXPELLED    FROM    THE    PLAY. 

THE  storm  had  spent  its  fury,  the  winds  sung  themselves 
softly  to  sleep,  a  friendly  face  looked  down  between  the  dis- 
persing clouds  and  cast  its  mild  light  upon  the  water,  now 
gradually  flowing  away.  The  swollen  brooks  rolled  like  molt- 
en silver — cold,  glittering  veins  of  the  giant  mountain  body, 
whose  crown  of  snow  bestowed  by  the  tempest  glimmered 
with  argent  lustre  in  the  pallid  moonbeams.  A  breeze,  chill 
and  strengthening  as  the  icy  breath  of  eternity,  sweeping  from 
the  white  glaciers,  entered  the  little  window  against  which  the 
countess  was  dreamily  leaning. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  moon,  more  and  more  transfig- 
ured and  transparent  became  the  mountains,  as  if  they  were  no 
longer  compact  masses,  only  the  spiritual  image  of  themselves 
as  it  may  have  hovered  before  the  divine  creative  mind,  ere 
He  gave  them  material  form. 

The  village  lay  silent  before  her,  and  silence  pervaded  all 
nature.  Yet  to  the  countess  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  the  still- 
ness which  precedes  a  great,  decisive  word. 

"  What  hast  Thou  to  say  to  me.  Viewless  One  ?  Sacred 
stillness,  what  dost  thou  promise  ?  Will  the  moment  come 
when  I  shall  understand  Thy  language,  infinite  Spirit  ?  Or 
wilt  Thou  only  half  do  Thy  work  in  me — only  awake  the  feel- 
ing that  Thou  art  near  me,  speaking  to  me,  merely  to  let  me 
die  of  longing  for  the  word  I  have  failed  to  comprehend. 

"  Woe  betide  me,  if  it  is  so  !  And  yet — wherefore  hast 
Thou  implanted  in  my  heart  this  longing,  this  inexplicable 
yearning,  which  nothing  stills,  no  earthly  advantage,  neither 
the  splendor  and  grandeur  Thou  hast  given  me,  nor  the  art 
and  science  which  Thou  didst  endow  me  with  capacity  to 
appreciate.  On,  on,  strives  my  thirsting  soul  toward  the  germ 
of  all  existence,  toward  Thee.  Fain  would  I  behold  Thy 
face,  though  the  fiery  vision  should  consume  me ! 

"  Source  of  wisdom,  no  knowledge  gives  Thee  to  me ; 
source  of  love,  no  love  can  supply  Thy  place.  I  have  sought 
Thee  in  the  temples  of  beauty,  but  found  Thee  not ;  in  the 
shining  spheres  of  thought,  but  in  vain ;  in  the  love  of  human 


EXPELLED    FROM    THE    PLAY.  31 

beings,  but  no  matter  how  many  hearts  opened  to  me,  I  flung 
them  aside  as  wdrthless  rubbish,  for  Thou  wert  not  in  them ! 
When  will  the  moment  come  that  Thou  wilt  appear  before  me 
in  some  noble  form  suited  to  Thy  Majesty,  and  tell  the  sinner 
that  her  dim  longing,  into  whatever  errors  it  may  have  led 
her,  yet  obtained  for  her  the  boon  of  beholding  Thy  face  ?  " 

Burning  tears  glittered  in  the  moonlight  in  the  countess' 
large,  beseeching  eyes  and,  mastered  by  an  inexplicable  feel- 
ing, she  sank  on  her  knees  at  the  little  window,  stretching  her 
clasped  hands  fervently  towards  the  shining  orb,  floating  in  her 
mild  beauty  and  effulgence  above  the  conquered,  flying  clouds. 
The  mountain  opposite  towered  like  a  spectral  form  in  the 
moonlit  atmosphere,  the  peak  over  which  she  had  driven  that 
day,  where  she  had  seen  that  wondrous  apparition,  that  man 
with  the  grief  of  the  universe  in  his  gaze !  What  manner  of 
man  must  he  have  been  whose  glance,  in  a  single  moment, 
awed  the  person  upon  whom  it  fell  as  if  some  higher  power 
had  given  a  look  of  admiration  ?  Why  had  it  rested  upon  her 
with  such  strange  reproach,  as  if  saying  :  "  You,  too,  are  a  child 
of  the  world,  like  many  who  come  here,  unworthy  of  salva- 
tion." Or  was  he  angry  with  her  because  she  had  disturbed 
him  in  his  reveries  ?  Yet  why  did  he  fix  his  eyes  so  intently 
upon  hers,  that  neither  could  avert  them  from  the  other  ?  And 
all  this  happened  in  a  single  moment — but  a  moment  worthy 
of  being  held  in  remembrance  throughout  an  eternity.  Who 
could  he  be  ?  Would  she  see  him  again  ?  Yes,  for  in  that 
meeting  there  was  something  far  beyond  mere  accident. 

An  incomprehensible  restlessness  seized  upon  her,  a  longing 
to  solve  the  enigma,  once  more  behold  that  face,  that  wonder- 
ful face  whose  like  she  had  never  seen  before  ! 

The  horse  was  stamping  in  its  stall,  but  she  did  not  heed  it, 
the  thin  candles  had  burned  down  and  gone  out  long  ago,  the 
worm  was  gnawing  the  ancient  wainscoting,  the  clock  in  the 
church-steeple  struck  twelve.  A  dog  howled  in  the  distance, 
one  of  the  children  in  the  workshop  was  disturbed  by  the 
nightmare,  it  cried  out  in  its  sleep.  Usually  such  nocturnal 
sounds  would  have  greatly  irritated  the  countess' nerves.  Now 
she  had  no  ears  for  them,  before  her  lay  the  whole  grand  ex- 
panse of  mountain  scenery,  bathed  in  the  moonlight,  naked  as 
a  beautiful  body  just  risen  from  a  glittering  flood !  And  she  was 


32  ON    THE    CROSS. 

seized  with  an  eager  longing  to  throw  herself  upon  the  bosom 
of  this  noble  body,  that  she,  too,  might  be  irradiated  with 
light,  steeped  in  its  moist  glow  and  cool  in  the  pure,  icy 
atmosphere  emanating  from  it,  her  fevered  blood,  the  vague 
yearning  which  thrilled  her  pulses.  She  hurriedly  seized  her 
hat  and  cloak  and  stepped  noiselessly  into  the  workshop. 
What  a  picture  of  poverty!  The  sisters  and  the  little  girl 
were  lying  on  the  floor  upon  sacks  of  straw,  the  boy  was 
asleep  on  the  "  couch,"  and  the  old  man  dozed  sitting  erect 
in  an  antique  arm-chair,  with  his  feet  on  a  stool. 

"  How  relative  everything  is,"  thought  the  countess.  "  To 
these  people  even  so  poor  a  bed  as  mine  in  yonder  room 
is  a  forbidden  luxury,  which  it  would  be  sinful  extravagance 
to  desire.  And  we,  amid  our  rustling  curtains,  on  our 
silken  cushions,  resting  on  soft  down,  in  rooms  illuminated 
with  the  magical  glow  of  lamps  which  pour  a  flood  of 
roseate  light  on  limbs  stretched  in  comfortable  repose,  while 
the  bronze  angels  which  support  the  mirror  seem  to  laugh 
gaily  at  each  other,  and  from  the  toilet  table  intoxicating 
perfumes  send  forth  their  sweet  poison,  to  conjure  up  a 
tropical  world  of  blossom  before  the  drowsy  senses  !  While 
these  sleeping-places  here!  On  the  bare  floor  and  straw, 
lighted  by  the  cold  glimmer  of  the  moon,  shining  through  un- 
curtained windows  and  making  the  slumberers'  lids  quiver 
restlessly.  Not  even  undressed,  cramped  by  their  coarse, 
tight  garments,  their  weary  limbs  move  uneasily  on  the  hard 
beds!  And  this  atmosphere !  Five  human  beings  in  the  low 
room  and  the  soot  from  the  lamp  which  has  been  smoking  all 
the  evening  still  filling  the  air.  What  lives !  What  contrasts  ! 
Yet  these  people  are  content  and  do  not  complain  of  their 
hard  fate !  Nay,  they  even  disdain  a  favorable  opportunity  of 
improving  it  by  legitimate  gains.  Not  one  desires  more  than 
is  customary  and  usual.  What  pride,  what  grandeur  of  self- 
sacrifice  this  requires  !  What  gives  them  this  power  ?" 

Old  Andreas  woke  and  gazed  with  an  almost  terrified  ex- 
pression at  the  beautiful  figure  of  the  countess,  standing 
thoughtfully  among  the  sleepers.  Starting  up,  he  asked  what 
she  desired. 

"  Will  you  go  to  walk  with  me,  Herr  Gross  ?  " 

The  old  man  rubbed  his  eyes  to  convince  himself  that  he 


EXPELLED    FROM    THE    PLAY.  33 

had  slept  so  long  that  the  sun  was  shining  into  his  room.  But 
no.  "  It  is  the  moon  which  is  so  bright, "  he  said  to  the 
countess.  » 

"Why,  of  course,  that  is  why  I  want  to  go  out !  "  she 
repeated.  The  old  man  quickly  seized  his  hat  from  the 
chamois  horn  and  stood  ready  to  attend  her.  "Are  you 
not  tired  ?  "  she  said  hesitatingly.  "  You  have  not  been  in 
bed." 

"  Oh,  that  is  of  no  consequence  !  "  was  his  ready  answer. 
"  During  the  Passion  it  is  always  so." 

The  countess  shook  her  head ;  she  knew  that  the  people 
here  said  simply  "  the  Passion,"  but  she  could  not  understand 
why,  during  "  the  Passion,"  they  should  neither  expect  a  bed 
nor  the  most  trivial  comfort  or  why,  for  the  sake  of  "  the  Pas- 
sion," they  should  endure  without  a  murmur,  and  without 
succumbing,  every  exertion  and  deprivation.  She  saw  in  the 
broad  light  which  filled  the  room  the  old  man's  bright,  keen 
eyes.  "  No,  these  Ammergau  people  know  no  fatigue,  their 
task  supports  them !" 

The  countess  left  the  room  with  him.  "  Ah !  "  an  involun- 
tary exclamation  of  delight  escaped  her  lips  as  she  emerged 
into  the  splendor  of  the  brilliant  moonlight,  and  eagerly  in- 
haled the  air  which  blew  cold  and  strong,  yet  closed  softly 
around  her,  strengthening  and  supporting  her  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea.  And,  amid  these  shimmering,  floating  mists, 
this  "  phosphorescence  "  of  the  earth,  these  waves  of  melting 
outlines,  softly  dissolving  shapes — the  Kofel  towered  solitary 
in  sharp  relief,  like  a  vast  reef  of  rocks,  and  on  its  summit 
glittered  the  metal-bound  cross,  the  symbol  of  Ammergau, 
sending  its  beams  far  and  wide  in  the  light  of  the  full  moon 
like  the  lantern  of  a  lighthouse. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  stretched  out  her  arms,  throwing 
back  her  cloak,  that  her  whole  form  might  bathe  in  the  pure 
element. 

"  Oh,  wash  away  all  earthly  dust  and  earthly  ballast,  ye 
surging  billows:  steal,  purify  me  in  thy  chaste  majesty,  queen 
of  the  world,  heaven-born  air  of  the  heights !  "  Was  it 
possible  that  hitherto  she  had  been  able  to  live  without 
this  bliss,  had  she  lived  ?  No,  no,  she  had  not !  "  Ammer- 
.  .  '  ..  3 


34  ON    THE    CROSS. 

gau,  thou  art  the  soil  I  have  sought!  Thy  miracles  are 
beginning ! "  cried  an  exultant  voice  in  the  soul  of  the 
woman  so  suddenly  released  from  the  toils  of  weary  deso- 
lation. 

Without  exchanging  many  words — for  the  old  man  was 
full  of  delicacy,  and  perceived  what  was  passing  in  the 
countess'  soul — they  involuntarily  walked  in  the  direction  of 
the  Kofel;  only  when  they  were  passing  the  house  of  a 
prominent  actor  in  the  Passion  Play,  he  often  thought  it  his 
duty  to  call  his  companion's  attention  to  it. 

Their  way  now  lead  them  past  a  small  dilapidated  tavern 
which  had  but  two  windows  in  the  front.  Here  the  Roman 
Procurator  lay  on  his  bed  of  straw,  enjoying  his  well-earned 
night's  rest.  It  was  the  house  of  Pilate  !  Nowhere  was  any 
window  closed  with  shutters — there  were  no  thieves  in  Am- 
mergau  !  The  moon  was  reflected  from  every  window-pane. 
They  turned  into  the  main  street  of  the  village,  where  the 
Ammer  flowed  in  its  broad,  deep  channel  like  a  Venetian 
lagoon.  The  stately,  picturesquely  situated  houses  threw 
sharp  shadows  on  the  water.  Here  the  ancient,  venerable 
"  star,"  whose  landlord  was  one  of  the  musicians,  thrust  its 
capacious  bow-window  into  the  street;  yonder  a  foot-bridge 
led  to  the  house  of  Caiaphas,  a  handsome  building,  richly 
adorned  with  frescoes  representing  scenes  from  ancient  his- 
tory ;  farther  on  Judas  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just,  rejoic- 
ing in  the  consciousness  of  having  betrayed  his  master  so  often  ! 
On  the  other  side  Mary  rested  under  the  richly  carved  gable 
with  the  ancient  design  of  the  clover  leaf,  the  symbol  of  the 
Trinity,  and  directly  opposite,  the  milk-wart  nodded  and 
swayed  on  the  wall  of  the  churchyard ! 

A  strange  feeling  stole  over  the  countess  as  she  stood 
among  these  consecrated  sleepers.  As  the  fragrance  of  the 
sleeping  flowers  floats  over  a  garden  at  night,  the  sorrowful 
spirit  of  the  story  of  the  Passion  seemed  to  rise  from  these 
humble  resting  places,  and  the  pilgrim  through  the  silent  vil- 
lage was  stirred  as  though  she  was  walking  through  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem.  A  street  turned  to  the  left  between  gardens 
surrounded  by  fences  and  shaded  by  tall,  ancient  trees.  The 
shadows  of  the  branches,  tossed  by  the  wind,  flickered  and 
danced  with  magical  grace.  "  That  is  the  way  to  the  dwell- 


EXPELLED  FROM  THE  PLAY.  35 

ing  of  the  Christ,  "  said  old  Gross,  in  a  subdued,  reverential 
tone. 

The  countess  involuntarily  started.  "  The  Christ,"  she  re- 
peated thoughtfully,  pausing.  "  Can  the  house  be  seen  ?" 

"  No,  not  from  here.  The  house  is  like  himself,  not  very" 
easy  to  find." 

"  Is  he  so  inaccessible  ?"  asked  the  countess,  glancing 
down  the  mysterious  street  again  as  they  passed. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Andreas.  "  He  is  a  peculiar  man.  It 
is  difficult  to  approach  him.  He  is  a  friend  of  my  son,  but 
has  little  to  do  with  the  rest  of  us." 

"  But  you  associate  with  him  ?" 

"  Very  little  in  daily  life ;  he  goes  nowhere,  not  even  to  the 
ale-house.  But  in  the  Passion  I  am  associated  with  him. 
I  always  nail  him  to  the  cross,"  added  the  old  man  proudly. 
"  No  one  is  permitted  to  do  that  except  myself." 

The  countess  listened  with  eager  interest.  The  brief  de- 
scription had  roused  her  curiosity  to  the  utmost.  "How  do 
you  do  it  ?"  she  asked,  to  keep  him  to  the  same  subject. 

"  I  cannot  explain  that  to  you,  but  a  great  deal  depends 
upon  having  everything  exactly  right,  for,  you  know,  the  least 
mistake  might  cost  him  his  life." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Why,  surely  you  can  understand.  Just  think,  the  man  is 
obliged  to  hang  on  the  cross  for  twenty  minutes.  During 
this  time  the  blood  cannot  circulate,  and  he  always  risks  an 
attack  of  palpitation  of  the  heart.  One  incautious  movement 
in  the  descent  from  the  cross,  which  should  cause  the  blood 
to  flow  back  too  quickly  to  the  heart,  might  cause  his  death." 

"  That  is  terrible  !"  cried  the  countess  in  horror.  "  And 
does  he  know  it  ?" 

"  Why,  certainly." 
"  And  still  does  it !" 

Here  Andreas  gazed  at  the  great  lady  with  a  compassion- 
ate smile,  as  if  he  wanted  to  say  :  'How  little  you  understand, 
that  you  can  ask  such  a  question !" 

They  walked  on  silently.  The  countess  was  thinking : 
"  What  kind  of  man  must  this  Christ  be  ?"  and  while  thus 
pondering  and  striving  to  form  some  idea  of  him,  it  suddenly 
flashed  upon  her  that  there  was  but  one  face  which  could 


36  ON   THE   CROSS. 

belong  to  this  man,  the  face  she  had  seen  gazing  down  upon 
her  from  the  mountain,  as  if  from  some  other  world.  Like  a 
blaze  of  lightning  the  thought  flamed  through  her  soul. 
"  That  must  have  been  he!" 

At  that  moment  Gross  made  a  circuit  around  a  gloomy 
house  that  had  a  neglected,  tangled  garden. 

"  Who  lives  there  ?"  asked  the  countess  in  surprise,  follow- 
ing the  old  man,  who  was  now  walking  much  faster. 

"  Oh,"  he  answered  sorrowfully,  "  that  is  a  sad  place ! 
There  is  an  unhappy  girl  there,  who  sobs  and  moans  all  night 
long  so  that  people  hear  her  outside.  I  wanted  to  spare  you, 
Countess." 

They  had  now  reached  the  end  of  the  village  and  were 
walking,  still  along  the  bank  of  the  Ammer,  toward  a  large 
dam  over  which  the  mountain  stream,  swollen  by  the  rain, 
plunged  in  mad,  foaming  waves.  The  spray  gleamed  daz- 
zlingly  white  in  the  moon-rays,  the  massive  beams  trembled 
under  the  pressure  of  the  unchained  volume  of  water,  groaning 
and  creaking  with  a  sinister  noise  amid  the  thundering  roar 
until  it  sounded  like  the  wails  of  the  dying  amid  the  din  of 
battle.  The  countess  shuddered  at  the  demoniac  power  of 
this  spectacle.  High  above  the  steep  fall  a  narrow  plank  led 
from  one  bank  of  the  stream  to  the  other,  vibrating  constantly 
with  the  shock  of  the  falling  water.  Madeleine's  brain  whirled 
at  the  thought  of  being  compelled  to  cross  it.  "  The  timbers 
are  groaning,"  she  said,  pausing.  "  Does  not  it  sound  like  a 
human  voice  ?" 

The  old  man  listened.  "  By  heaven  !  one  would  suppose 
so." 

"  It  is  a  human  voice — there — hark — some  one  is  weeping 
— moaning." 

The  dam  was  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  moonlight,  the 
countess  and  her  companion  stood  concealed  by  a  dense 
clump  of  willows,  so  that  they  could  see  without  being  seen. 

Suddenly — what  was  that  ?  The  old  man  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  "  Heavenly  Father,  it  is  she  !" 

A  female  figure  was  gliding  across  the  plank.  Like  the 
ruddy  glow  of  flame,  mingled  with  the  bluish  hue  of  the 
moonlight,  a  mass  of  red-gold  hair  gleamed  around  her  head 
and  fluttered  in  the  wind.  The  beautiful  face  was  ghost-like 


EXPELLED    FROM    THE    PLAY.  37 

in  its  pallor,  the  eyes  were  fixed,  the  very  embodiment  of 
despair.  Her  upper  garment  hung  in  tatters  about  her  softly- 
moulded  shoulders,  and  she  held  her  clasped  hands  uplifted, 
not  like  one  who  prays,  but  one  who  fain  would  pray,  yet 
cannot.  Then  with  the  firm  poise  of  a  person  seeking  death, 
she  walked  to  the  middle  of  the  swaying  plank,  where  the 
water  was  deepest,  the  fall  most  steep.  There  she  prepared 
to  take  the  fatal  plunge.  The  countess  shrieked  aloud  and 
Gross  shouted  : 

"Josepha!  Josepha!  May  God  forgive  you.  Remember 
your  old  mother  !" 

The  girl  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  covered  her  face  with  both 
hands,  and  flung  herself  prone  on  the  narrow  plank. 

But,  with  the  speed  of  a  youth,  the  old  man  was  already  on 
the  bridge,  raising  the  girl.  "  Shame  on  you  to  wish  to  do 
such  a  thing!  We  must  submit  to  our  fate!  Now  take  care 
that  you  don't  make  a  mis-step  or  I,  an  old  man,  must  leap 
into  the  cold  water  to  drag  you  out  again,  and  you  know  how 
much  1  suffer  from  the  rheumatism."  He  spoke  in  low,  kindly 
tones,  and  the  countess  secretly  admired  his  shrewdness  and 
tenderness.  She  watched  them  breathlessly  as  the  girl,  at  these 
words,  tried  not  to  slip  in  order  to  spare  him.  But  now,  as 
she  did  not  wish  to  fall,  she  moved  with  uncertain,  stumbling 
feet,  where  she  had  just  seemed  to  fly.  But  Andreas  Gross 
led  her  firmly  and  kindly.  The  countess'  heart  throbbed 
heavily  till  they  reached  the  end  and,  in  the  utmost  anxiety 
she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  them  from  the  distance.  Thank 
Heaven,  there  they  are !  The  lady  caught  the  girl  by  the 
hand  and  dragged  her  on  the  shore,  where  she  sank  silently, 
like  a  stricken  animal,  at  her  feet.  The  countess  covered  the 
trembling  form  with  her  cloak  and  said  a  few  comforting  words. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?"  she  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  Josepha  Freyer,  from  the  gloomy  house 
yonder." 

"  Freyer  ?  A  relative  of  the  Freyer  who  played  the  Christ." 

"  A  cousin ;  yes." 

The  old  man  was  about  to  go  to  the  girl's  house  to  bring 
her  mother. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  countess.  "  I  will  care  for  her.  What 
induced  the  unfortunate  girl  to  take  such  a  step  ?" 


38  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  She  was  the  Mary  Magdalene  in  the  last  Passion  !" 
whispered  the  old  man.  At  the  words  the  girl  raised  her 
head  and  burst  into  violent  sobs. 

"  My  child,  what  has  happened !"  asked  the  countess,  gazing 
admiringly  at  the  charming  creature,  who  was  as  perfect  a 
picture  of  the  penitent  Magdalene  as  any  artist  could  create. 

"  Why  don't  you  play  the  Magdalene  this  time?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  asked  the  girl,  amazed  that  there  was 
any  human  being  still  ignorant  of  her  disgrace.  "  I  am  not 
permitted  to  play  now — I  am — 1  have" — she  again  burst  with 
convulsive  sobs  and,  clasping  the  countess'  knees,  cried:  "  Oh, 
let  me  die,  I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  She  fell  into  error,"  said  Gross,  in  reply  to  the  lady's  ques- 
tioning glance.  "A  little  boy  was  born  last  winter.  Now 
she  can  no  longer  act,  for  only  those  who  are  pure  and  with- 
out reproach  are  permitted  to  take  part  in  the  Passion." 

"Oh,  how  harsh!  "cried  the  countess;  "  And  in  a  land 
where  human  beings  are  so  near  to  nature,  and  in  circum- 
stances where  the  poor  girls  are  so  little  guarded." 

"  Yes,  we  are  aware  of  that — and  Josepha  is  a  heavy  loss 
to  us  in  the  play — but  these  rules  have  come  down  to  us  from 
our  ancestors  and  must  be  rigidly  maintained.  Yet  the  girl 
takes  it  too  much  to  heart,  she  weeps  day  and  night,  so  that 
people  never  pass  the  house  to  avoid  hearing  her  lamentations, 
and  now  she  wants  to  kill  herself,  the  foolish  lass." 

"  Oh,  it's  very  well  for  you  to  talk,  it's  very  well  for  you  to 
talk,"  now  burst  from  the  girls  lips  in  accents  tremulous  with 
^passion.  "  First,  try  once  what  it  is  to  have  the  whole  world 
point  at  you.  When  the  Englishmen,  and  the  strangers  from 
all  the  foreign  countries  in  the  world,  come  and  want  to  see 
the  famous  Josepha  Freyer,  who  played  in  the  last  Passion,  and 
fairly  drag  the  soul  out  of  your  body  with  their  questions  about 
the  reason  that  you  no  longer  act  in  it.  Wait  till  you  have  to 
tell  each  person  the  story  of  your  own  disgrace,  that  it  may  be 
carried  through  the  whole  earth  and  know  that  your  name  is 
branded  wherever  men  speak  of  the  Passion  Play.  First  try 
what  it  is  to  hide  in  a  corner  like  a  criminal,  while  they  are 
acting  in  the  Passion,  and  bragging  and  giving  themselves  airs 
as  if  they  were  saints,  while  thousands  upon  thousands  listen 
devoutly.  Ah,  I  alone  am  shut  out,  and  yet  I  know  that 


EXPELLED    FROM    THE    PLAY.  39 

no  one  can  act  as  I  do."  She  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and 
flung  the  magnificient  traditional  locks  of  the  Magdalene  back 
on  her  shoulders.*  "Just  seek  such  a  Magdalene  as  I  was — 
you  will  find  none.  And  then  to  be  forced  to  hear  people 
who  are  passing  ask:  'Why  doesn't  Josepha  Freyer  play  the 
Magdalene  this  year  ?'  And  then  there  are  whispers,  shrugs, 
and  laughter,  some  one  says,  '  then  she  would  suit  the  character 
exactly.'  And  when  people  pass  the  house  they  point  at  it — 
it  seems  as  if  I  could  feel  it  through  the  walls — and  mutter : 
'  That's  where  the  Penitent  lives !'  No,  I  won't  bear  it.  I 
only  waited  till  there  was  a  heavy  storm  to  make  the  water 
deep  enough  for  me  to  drown  myself.  And  I've  been  pre- 
vented even  in  this." 

"Josepha!"  said  the  countess,  deeply  moved,  "will you  go 
with  me — away  from  Ammergau,  to  another,  a  very  different 
world,  where  you  and  your  disgrace  are  unknown  ?" 

Josepha  gazed  at  the  stranger  as  if  in  a  dream. 

"  I  believe,"  the  lady  added,  "  that  my  losing  my  maid 
to-day  was  an  act  of  Providence  in  your  behalf.  Will  you 
take  her  place  ?" 

"  Thank  heaven !"  said  old  Gross.  "  Brighter  days  will 
dawn  for  you,  Josepha !" 

Josepha  stood  still  with  her  hands  clasped,  tears  were 
streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Why,  do  you  hesitate  to  accept  my  offer  ?"  asked  the 
countess,  greatly  perplexed. 

"Oh,  don't  be  angry  with  me — I  am  sincerely  grateful;  but 
what  do  I  care  for  all  these  things,  if  I  am  no  longer  permitted 
to  act  the  Magdalene  ?"  burst  in  unutterable  anguish  from  the 
very  depths  of  the  girl's  soul. 

"  What  an  ambition !"  said  the  countess  to  Andreas  in 
astonishment. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  way  with  them  all  here — they  would 
rather  lose  their  lives  than  a  part  in  the  Passion!"  he  answered 
in  a  low  tone.  "  But,  child,  you  could  not  always  play  the 
Magdalene — in  ten  years  you  would  be  too  old  for  it,"  he  said 
soothingly  to  the  despairing  Josepha. 

"  Oh  that's  a  very  different  thing — when  we  have  grown 
grey  with  honors,  we  know  that  we  must  give  it  up — but  so — " 
and  again  she  gazed  longingly  at  the  beautiful,  deep,  rushing 


40  ON    THE    CROSS. 

water,  where  it  would  be  so  cool,  so  pleasant  to  rest — which 
she  had  vowed  to  seek,  and  now  could  not  keep  her  word. 

"  Do  you  love  your  child,  Josepha  ?"  asked  Countess 
Wildenau. 

"  It  died  directly  after  it  was  born." 

"  Do  you  love  your  mother  ?" 

"  No,  she  was  always  unkind  and  harsh  to  me,  and  now 
she  has  lost  her  mind." 

"  Do  you  love  your  lover  ?"  the  lady  persisted. 

«Yes — but  he  is  dead!  A  poacher  shot  him — he  was  a 
forester." 

"  Then  you  have  no  one  for  whom  you  care  to  live  ?" 

"No  one!" 

"  Then  come  with  me  and  try  whether  you  cannot  love  me 
well  enough  to  make  it  worth  while  to  live  for  me !  Will  you  ?" 

"Yes,  your  Highness,  I  will  try!"  replied  the  girl,  fixing 
her  large  eyes  with  an  expression  of  mingled  inquiry  and  ad- 
miration upon  the  countess.  A  beautiful  glow  of  gratitude 
and  confidence  gradually  transfigured  the  grief- worn  face :  "  I 
think  I  could  do  anything  for  you." 

"  Come  with  me  then — at  once,  poor  child — I  will  save 
you !  Your  relatives  will  not  object." 

"  Oh,  no !  They  will  be  glad  to  have  me  go  away." 

"  And  your  cousin,  the — the — "  she  does  not  know  herself 
why  she  hesitates  to  pronounce  the  name. 

"  The  Christ-Freyer  ?"  said  Josepha  finishing  the  sentence. 
"  Oh !  he  has  not  spoken  to  me  for  a  year,  except  to  say  what 
was  absolutely  necessary,  he  cannot  get  over  my  having 
brought  disgrace  upon  his  unsullied  name.  It  has  made  him 
disgusted  with  life  here  and,  if  it  were  not  for  the  Christ,  he 
would  not  stay  in  Ammergau.  He  is  so  severe  in  such  things." 

"  So  severe  /"  the  countess  repeated,  thoughtfully. 

The  clock  in  the  steeple  of  the  Ammergau  church  struck 
two. 

"It  is  late,"  said  the  countess,  "the  poor  thing  needs  rest." 
She  wrapped  her  own  cloak  around  the  girl. 

"  Come,  lonely  heart,  I  will  warm  you." 

She  turned  once  more  to  drink  in  the  loveliness  of  the  ex- 
quisite scene. 

"  Night  of  miracle,  I  thank  thee." 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  .    4* 

CHAPTER  V. 


MODERN    PILGRIMS. 

"  WHAT  do  you  think.  The  Countess  von  Wildenau  is 
founding  an  Orphan's  Home!"  said  the  prince,  as,  leaving 
the  Gross  house,  he  joined  a  group  of  gentlemen  who  were 
waiting  just  outside  the  door  in  the  little  garden. 

The  news  created  a  sensation ;  the  gentlemen,  laughing 
and  jesting,  plied  him  with  questions. 

"  Oh,  Mon  Dicu,  who  can  understand  a  woman  ?  Our 
goddess  is  sitting  in  the  peasants'  living  room,  with  the  elderly 
daughters  of  the  house,  indescribable  creatures,  occupying 
herself  with  feminine  work." 

"  Her  Highness !  Countess  Wildenau !  Oh,  that's  a  bad 
joke." 

"  No,  upon  my  honor !  If  she  had  not  hung  a  veil  over 
the  window,  we  could  see  her  sitting  there.  She  has  borrowed 
a  calico  apron  from  one  of  the  '  ladies  of  the  house,'  and  as, 
for  want  of  a  maid,  she  was  obliged  to  arrange  her  hair  her- 
self, she  wears  it  to-day  in  a  remarkably  simple  style  and 
looks," — he  kissed  his  hand  to  the  empty  air — "  more  bewitch- 
ing than  ever,  like  a  girl  of  sixteen,  a  regular  Gretchen !  Who- 
ever has  not  gone  crazy  over  her  when  she  has  been  in  full 
dress,  will  surely  do  so  if  he  sees  her  thus." 

"Aha!  We  must  see  her,  too;  we'll  assail  the  window!" 
cried  his  companions  enthusiastically. 

"  No,  no !  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  do  that,  on  pain  of 
her  anger !  Prince  Hohenheim,  I  beg  you !  Count  Cossigny, 
don't  knock !  St.  Genois,  au  nom  de  Dieu,  she  will  never  for- 
give you." 

"  Why  not— friends  so  intimate  as  we  are?" 

"  I  have  already  said,  who  can  depend  upon  a  woman's 
whims  ?  Let  me  explain.  I  entered,  rejoicing  in  the  thought 
of  bringing  her  such  pleasant  news.  I  said :  '  Guess  whom 
I  met  just  now  at  the  ticket  office,  Countess  ?'  The  goddess 
sat  sewing." 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  astonishment.  "  Sewing !"  the 
prince  went  on,  "  of  course,  without  a  thimble,  for  those  in  the 
bouse  did  not  fit,  and  there  was  none  among  Her  Highness' 


42  ON   THE    CROSS. 

trinkets.  So  I  repeated  my  question.  An  icy  *  How  can  I 
tell?'  was  the  depressing  answer,  as  if  at  that  moment  nothing 
in  the  world  could  possibly  interest  her  more  than  her  work ! 
So,  unasked  and  with  no  display  of  attention,  I  was  forced  to 
go  on  with  my  news.  'Just  think,  Countess,  Prince  Hohen- 
heim,  the  Counts  Cossigny,  Wengenrode,  St.  Genois,  all  Aus- 
tria, France,  and  Bavaria  have  arrived !'  I  joyously  exclaimed. 
I  expected  that  she  would  utter  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  thought 
of  meeting  men  of  her  world  again,  but  no — she  greeted  my 
tidings  with  a  frown." 

"  Hear,  hear!"  cried  the  group. 

"  A  frown  !  I  was  forced  to  persist.  '  They  are  outside, 
waiting  to  throw  themselves  at  your  feet,'  I  added.  A  still 
darker  frown.  '  Please  keep  the  gentlemen  away,  I  can  see 
no  one,  I  will  see  no  one.'  So  she  positively  announced.  I 
timidly  ventured  to  ask  why.  She  was  tired,  she  could  receive 
no  one,  she  had  no  time.  At  last  it  came  out.  What  do  you 
suppose  the  countess  did  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  dare  not  guess,"  replied  St.  Genois  with  a  malicious 
glance  at  the  prince,  which  the  latter  loftily  ignored. 

"  She  sent  me  away  at  eleven  o'clock  and  then  went 
wandering  about,  rhapsodizing  over  the  moonlight  with  her 
host,  old  Gross." 

A  universal  peal  of  laughter  greeted  these  words.  "  Coun- 
tess Wildenau,  for  lack  of  an  escort,  obliged  to  wander  about 
with  an  old  stone-cutter !" 

"  Yes,  and  she  availed  herself  of  this  virtuous  ramble  to 
save  the  life  of  a  despairing  girl,  who  very  opportunely  at- 
tempted to  commit  suicide,  just  at  the  time  the  countess 
was  passing  to  rescue  this  precious  prize.  Now  she  is  sitting 
yonder  remodeling  one  of  her  charming  tailor  costumes  for 
this  last  toy  of  her  caprice.  She  declares  that  she  loves  the 
wench  most  tenderly,  will  never  be  separated  from  her;  in 
short,  she  is  playing  the  novel  character  of  Lady  Bountiful,  and 
does  not  want  to  be  disturbed." 
.  "  Did  you  see  the  fair  orphan  ?" 

"  No ;  she  protested  that  it  would  be  unpleasant  for  the 
girl  to  expose  herself  to  curious  glances,  so  she  conceals  this 
very  sensitive  young  lady  from  profane  eyes  in  her  sleeping 
room.  What  do  you  say  to  all  this,  Prince  ?" 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  __  43 

"  I  say,"  replied  Prince  Hohenheim,  an  elderly  gentleman 
with  a  clearly  cut,,sarcastic  face,  a  bald  forehead,  and  a  low, 
but  distinct  enunciation,  "  that  a  vivacious,  imaginative 
woman  is  always  influenced  by  the  environment  in  which  she 
happens  to  find  herself.  When  the  countess  is  in  the  society 
of  scholarly  people,  she  becomes  extremely  learned,  if  she  is  in 
a  somewhat  frivolous  circle,  like  ours,  she  grows — not  exactly 
frivolous,  but  full  of  sparkling  wit,  and  here,  among  these 
devout  enthusiasts,  Her  Highness  wishes  to  play  the  part  of 
a  Stylite.  Let  us  indulge  her,  it  won't  last  long,  a  lady's  whim 
must  never  be  thwarted.  Ce  que  femme  veut,  JDieu  le  veutj" 

"  Has  the  countess  also  made  a  vow  to  fast?"  asked  Count 
Cossigny  of  the  Austrian  Embassy,  and  therefore  briefly  called 
"Austria,"  "could  we  not  dine  together?" 

"  No,  she  told  me  that  she  would  not  leave  the  beloved 
suicide  alone  a  moment  at  present,  and  therefore  she  intended 
to  dine  at  home.  Yesterday  she  shuddered  at  the  bare 
thought  of  drinking  a  cup  of  tea  made  in  that  witch's  kitchen, 
and  only  the  fact  that  my  valet  prepared  it  and  I  drank  it  first 
in  her  presence  finally  induced  her,  at  ten  o'clock  last  even- 
ing, to  accept  the  refreshment.  And  to-day  she  will  eat  a 
dinner  prepared  by  the  ladies  of  the  house.  There  must 
really  be  something  dangerous  in  the  air  of  Ammergau!" 

"  To  persons  of  the  countess'  temperament,  yes !"  replied 
Prince  Hohenheim  in  his  calm  manner,  then  slipping  his  arm 
through  the  prince's  a  moment,  whispered  confidentially,  as 
they  walked  on:  "I  advise  you,  Prince  Emil,  to  get  her  away 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Certainly,  all  the  arrangements  are  made.  We  shall  start 
directly  after  the  performance." 

"  That  is  fortunate.    To-morrow,  then !  You  have  tickets  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  and  what  is  still  better,  whole  bones." 

"  That's  true,"  cried  Austria,  "  what  a  crowd !  One  might 
think  Sarah  Bemhardt  was  going  to  play  the  Virgin  Mary." 

"  It's  ridiculous !  I  haven't  seen  such  a  spectacle  since  the 
Paris  Exposition !"  remarked  St.  Genois. 

"  It's  worse  than  Baden-Baden  at  the  time  of  the  races," 
muttered  Wengenrode,  angrily.  "  Absurd,  what  brings  the 
people  here  ?" 

"  Why,  we  are  here,  too,"  said  Hohenheim,  smiling. 


44  ON  THE   CROSS. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  it  must  be  seen  once,  if  people  are  in  the 
neighborhood,"  observed  Cossigny. 

"Are  you  going  directly  after  the  performance,  too?" 
asked  Prince  Emil. 

"  Of  course,  what  is  there  to  do  here  ?  No  gaming — no 
ladies'  society,  and  just  think,  the  burgomaster  of  Ammergau 
will  allow  neither  a  circus  nor  any  other  ordinary  performance. 
He  was  offered  forty  thousand  marks  by  the  proprietor  of  the 
Circus  Rouannet,  if  he  would  permit  him  to  give  performances 
during  the  Passion  Play !  Mademoiselle  Rouannet  told  me  so 
herself.  Do  you  suppose  that  obstinate,  stiff-necked  Philis- 
tine could  be  persuaded  ?  No,  it  was  not  in  harmony  with 
the  dignity  of  the  Passion  Play.  He  preferred  to  refuse  the 
40,000  marks.  The  Salon  Kluber  wanted  to  put  up  an  elegant 
merry-go-round  and  offered  12,000  marks  for  the  privilege. 
Heaven  forbid !" 

"  I  believe  these  people  have  the  mania  of  ambition,"  said 
Wengenrode. 

"Say  rather  of saintship"  corrected  Prince  Hohenheim. 

"  Aye,  they  all  consider  themselves  the  holy  personages 
whom  they  represent.  We  need  only  look  at  this  arrogant 
burgomaster,  and  the  gentleman  who  personates  Christ,  to 
understand  what  these  people  imagine  themselves." 

All  joined  in  the  laugh  which  followed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wengenrode,  "  and  the  Roman  procurator, 
Pilate,  who  is  a  porter  or  a  messenger  and  so  drags  various 
loads  about,  carried  up  my  luggage  to-day  and  dropped  my 
dressing  case  containing  a  number  of  breakable  jars  and  boxes. 
'  Stupid  blockhead !'  I  exclaimed,  angrily.  He  straightened 
himself  and  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  which  actually 
embarrassed  me.  '  My  name  is  Thomas  Rendner,  sir !  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  my  awkwardness,  and  am  ready  to  make  your 
loss  good,  so  far  as  my  means  shall  allow.' " 

"  Now  tell  me,  isn't  that  sheer  hallucination  of  grandeur?" 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  laughed,  but  Prince  Emil  and 
Hohenheim  were  silent. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  to-morrow  evening  in  Munich  to  re- 
compense ourselves  for  this  boredom  ?"  asked  Cossigny. 

"To  the  Casino,  I  think!"  said  the  prince. 

"Well,  then  we'll  all  meet  there,  shall  we?" 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  45 

The  party  assented. 

"  Provided  that  the  countess  has  no  commands  for  us," 
observed  St.  Gertois. 

"  She  will  not  have  any,"  said  the  prince,  "  for  either  the 
Play  will  produce  an  absurd  impression  which  is  not  to  be 
expected,  and  then  she  will  feel  ashamed  and  unwilling  to 
grant  us  our  triumph  because  we  predicted  it,  or  her  senti- 
mental mood  will  draw  from  this  farce  a  sweet  poison  of 
emotion,  and  in  that  case  we  shall  be  too  frivolous  for  her! 
This  must  first  be  allowed  to  exhale." 

"  Very  true,"  Hohenheim  assented.  "  You  are  just  the  man 
to  cope  with  this  capricious  beauty,  Prince  Emil.  Adieu! 
May  you  prosper!" 

The  gentlemen  raised  their  hats. 

"  Farewell !"  said  Cossigny,  "  by  the  way,  I'll  make  a  sug- 
gestion. We  shall  best  impress  the  countess  while  in  this 
mood,  by  our  generosity ;  let  us  heap  coals  of  fire  on  her  head 
by  sending  a  telegram  to  the  court-gardener  to  convert  the 
whole  palace  into  a  floral  temple  to  welcome  her  return.  It 
will  touch  a  mysterious  chord  of  sympathy  if  she  meets  only 
these  mute  messengers  of  our  adoration.  When  on  entering 
she  finds  this  surprise  and  remembers  how  basely  she  treated 
us  this  morning,  her  heart  will  be  touched  and  she  will  invite 
us  to  dine  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  A  capital  plan,"  cried  Wengenrode  and  St.  G6nois,  gaily. 
"  Do  your  Highnesses  agree  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Hohenheim,  with  formal  courtesy, 
"  when  the  point  in  question  is  a  matter  of  gallantry,  a  Ho- 
henheim is  never  backward." 

"  I  beg  to  be  allowed  to  contribute  also,  but  incognito. 
She  would  regard  such  an  attention  from  me  as  a  piece  of  sen- 
timentality, and  it  would  produce  just  the  contrary  effect," 
Prince  Emil  answered. 

"As  you  please." 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  telegraph  office !"  cried  Wengenrode, 
pagerly. 

"  Farewell,  gentlemen." 

"  Au  revoir,  Prince  Emil !  Are  you  going  to  return  to  the 
lionesses'  den  ?" 


46  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  Can  you  ask  ?"  questioned  Hohenheim  with  a  significant 
smile. 

"  Then  early  to-morrow  morning  at  the  Play,  and  at  night 
the  Casino,  don't  forget !"  Cossigny  called  back. 

The  gentlemen,  laughing  and  chatting,  strolled  down  the 
street  to  their  lodgings.  The  prince  watched  them  a  moment, 
turned,  and  went  back  to  the  countess. 

"  I  cannot  really  be  vexed  with  her,  if  these  associates  do 
not  satisfy  her,"  he  thought. 

"  Should  I  desire  her  to  become  my  wife,  if  they  did  ? 
Certainly  not.  Yet  if  women  only  would  not  rush  from  one 
extreme  to  another  ?  Hohenheim  is  perfectly  right,  she  ought 
not  to  stay  here  too  long,  she  must  go  to-morrow." 

He  had  reached  the  house  and  entered  the  neglected  old 
garden  where  huge  gnarled  fruit  trees,  bearing  small,  stunted 
fruit,  interlaced  their  branches  above  a  crooked  bench.  There, 
in  the  midst  of  the  rank  grass  and  weeds,  sat  the  countess,  her 
beautiful  head  resting  against  the  mouldy  bark  of  the  old 
trunk,  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  luminous  mountains  gleam- 
ing in  the  distance  through  the  tangled  boughs  and  shrub- 
bery. 

From  the  adjoining  garden  of  the  sculptor  Zwink,  whose 
site  was  somewhat  higher,  a  Diana  carved  in  white  stone  gazed 
curiously  across,  seeming  as  if  she  wished  to  say  to  the  pensive 
lady  who  at  that  moment  herself  resembled  a  statue:  "Art 
will  create  gods  for  you  everywhere .' "  But  the  temptation 
had  no  effect,  the  countess  seemed  to  have  had  no  luck  with 
these  gods,  she  no  longer  believed  in  them! 

"  Well,  Countess  Madeleine,  did  the  light  and  air  lure  you 
out  of  doors  ?"  asked  the  prince,  joyfully  approaching  her. 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  bear  to  stay  there  any  longer.  Hen- 
Gross'  daughters  are  finishing  the  dress.  We  will  dine  here, 
Prince;  the  meal  can  be  served  on  a  table  near  the  house, 
under  a  wild-grape  vine  arbor.  We  can  wait  on  ourselves  for 
one  day." 

"  For  one  day !"  repeated  the  prince  with  great  relief; 
"  oh  yes,  it  can  be  managed  for  one  day."  Thank  Heaven, 
she  had  no  intention  of  staying  here. 

"  Oh,  Prince,  see  how  beautiful,  how  glorious  it  is!" 

"  Beautiful,  glorious  ?     Pardon  me,  but  I  see  nothing  to 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  47 

call  forth  words  you  so  rarely  use !    You  must  have  narrowed 
your  demands  if,  alter  the  view  of  the  wondrous  garden  of 
the  Isola  Bella  and  all  the  Italian  villas,  you  suddenly  take , 
delight  in  cabbage-stalks,  wild-pears,  broom,  and  colt's  foot." 

"  Now  see  how  you  talk  again !"  replied  the  countess,  un- 
pleasantly affected  by  his  words.  "  Does  not  Spinoza  say : 
4  Everything  is  beautiful,  and  as  I  lose  myself  in  the  observa- 
tion of  its  beauty,  my  pleasure  in  life  is  increased.'  " 

"That  has  not  been  your  motto  hitherto.  You  have 
usually  found  something  to  criticise  in  every  object.  It  seems 
to  me  that  you  have  wearied  of  the  beautiful  and  now,  by 
way  of  a  change,  find  even  ugliness  fair." 

"  Very  true,  my  friend.  I  am  satisfied,  nothing  charms 
me,  nothing  satisfies  me,  not  even  the  loveliest  scene,  be- 
cause I  always  apply  to  everything  the  standard  of  perfec- 
tion, and  nothing  attains  it."  She  shook  herself  suddenly 
as  if  throwing  off  a  burden.  "  This  must  not  continue,  the 
zesthetic  intolerance  which  poisoned  every  pleasure  must 
end,  I  will  cast  aside  the  whole  load  of  critical  analysis 
and  academic  ideas  of  beauty,  and  snap  my  fingers  at  the 
ghosts  of  Winckelmann  and  Lessing.  Here  in  the  kitchen- 
garden,  among  cabbage-stalks  and  colt's  foot,  wild-pear 
and  plum-trees,  fanned  by  the  fresh,  crystal-clear  air  of  the 
lofty  mountains,  whose  glaciers  shimmer  with  a  bluish  light 
through  the  branches,  in  the  silence  and  solitude,  I  sud- 
denly find  it  beautiful;  beautiful  because  I  am  happy,  be- 
cause I  am  only  a  human  being,  free  from  every  restraint, 
thinking  nothing,  feeling  nothing  save  the  peace  of  nature, 
the  delight  of  this  repose." 

She  rested  her  feet  comfortably  on  the  bench  and,  with 
her  head  thrown  back,  gazed  with  a  joyous  expression  into 
the  blue  air  which,  after  the  rain,  arched  above  the  earth 
like  a  crystal  bell. 

This  mood  did  not  quite  please  the  prince.  He  was  ex- 
clusively a  man  of  the  world.  His  thoughts  were  ruled  by 
the  laws  of  the  most  rigid  logic,  whatever  was  not  logically 
attainable  had  no  existence  for  him;  his  enthusiasm  reached 
the  highest  pitch  only  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  noblest  pro- 
ducts of  art  and  science.  He  did  not  comprehend  how 
any  one  could  weary  of  them,  even  for  a  moment,  on  the 


48  ON    THE    CROSS. 

one  side  because  his  calm  temperament  did  not,  like  the 
countess'  passionate  one,  exhaust  everything  by  following  it 
to  its  inmost  core,  and  he  was  thus  guarded  from  satiety ;  on 
the  other  because  he  wholly  lacked  appreciation  of  nature 
and  her  unconscious  grandeur.  He  was  the  trained  vassal 
of  custom  in  the  conventional,  as  well  as  in  every  other  prov- 
ince. The  countess,  however,  possessed  some  touch  of  that 
doctrine  of  divine  right  which  is  ready,  at  any  moment,  to 
feast  off  the  bonds  of  tradition  and  artificial  models  and  obey 
the  impulse  of  kinship  with  sovereign  nature.  This  was  the 
boundary  across  which  he  could  not  follow  her,  and  he  was 
perfectly  aware  of  it,  for  he  had  one  of  those  proud  characters 
which  disdain  to  deceive  themselves  concerning  their  own 
powers.  Yet  it  filled  him  with  grave  anxiety. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  now,  Prince  ?"  asked  his  com- 
panion, noticing  his  gloomy  mood. 

"  That  I  have  not  seen  you  so  contented  for  months,  and 
yet  I  am  unable  to  understand  the  cause  of  this  satisfaction. 
Especially  when  I  remember  what  it  usually  requires  to  bring 
a  smile  of  pleasure  to  your  lips." 

"  Dear  me,  must  everything  be  understood  ?"  cried  the 
beautiful  woman,  laughing ;  "  there  is  the  pedant  again  !  Must 
we  be  perpetually  under  the  curb  of  self-control  and  give  our- 
selves an  account  whether  what  we  feel  in  a  moment  of  hap- 
piness is  sensible  and  authorized  ?  Must  we  continually  see 
ourselves  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  our  self-consciousness,  and 
never  draw  a  veil  over  our  souls  and  permit  God  to  have  one 
undiscovered  secret  in  them?" 

The  prince  silently  kissed  her  hand.  His  eyes  now  ex- 
pressed deep,  earnest  feeling,  and  stirred  by  emotion,  she  laid 
her  other  hand  upon  his  head : 

"You  are  a  noble-hearted  man,  Prince;  though  some  un- 
spoken, uncomprehended  idea  stands  between  us,  I  know 
your  feelings." 

Again  the  rose  and  the  thorn !  It  was  always  so !  At  the 
very  moment  her  soft,  sweet  hand  touched  him  caressingly, 
she  thrust  a  dagger  into  his  heart.  Aye,  that  was  the  con- 
tinual "misunderstanding"  which  existed  between  them,  the 
thorn  in  the  every  rose  she  proffered. 
,  Women  like  these  are  only  tolerable  when  they  really  love ; 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  49 

when  a  powerful  feeling  makes  them  surrender  themselves 
completely.  Where  this  is  not  the  case,  they  are,  uncon- 
sciously and  involuntarily,  malicious,  dangerous  creatures, 
caressing  and  slaying  at  the  same  moment. 

First,  woe  betide  the  man  whom  they  believe  they  love.. 
For  how  often  such  beings  are  mistaken  in  their  feelings ! 

Such  delusions  do  not  destroy  the  woman,  she  often  ex- 
periences them,  but  the  man  who  has  shared  them  with  her ! 
Alas  for  him  who  has  not  kept  a  cool  head. 

The  prince  was  standing  with  his  back  turned  to  the  street, 
gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  beautiful  woman  with  the  fathom- 
less, sparkling  eyes.  Suddenly  he  saw  her  start  and  flush. 
Turning  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  he  followed  the  direction 
of  her  glance,  but  saw  nothing  except  the  figure  of  a  man  of 
unusual  height,  with  long  black  hair,  pass  swiftly  around  the 
corner  and  disappear. 

"  Do  you  know  that  gentleman  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  countess  frankly,  "  he  is  the  person 
whom  I  saw  yesterday  as  we  drove  up  the  mountain." 

"  Pardon  the  indescretion,  but  you  blushed." 

"  Yes,  I  felt  it,  but  I  don't  know  why,"  she  ansAvered  with 
an  almost  artless  innocence  in  her  gaze.  The  prince  could 
not  help  smiling. 

"  Countess,  Countess !"  he  said,  shaking  his  finger  at  her 
as  if  she  were  a  child.  "  Guard  your  imagination;  it  will  prove 
a  traitor  some  day." 

The  countess,  as  if  with  a  sweet  consciousness  of  guilt, 
drew  down  the  uplifted  hand  with  a  movement  of  such  inde- 
scribable grace  that  no  one  could  have  remained  angry  with 
her.  The  prince  knelt  at  her  feet  an  instant,  not  longer  than 
a  blade  of  grass  requires  to  bend  before  the  breeze  and  rise 
again,  then  he  stood  erect,  somewhat  paler  than  before,  but 
perfectly  calm. 

"  I'll  go  in  and  tell  my  valet  to  serve  our  dinner  here." 

"  If  you  please,  Prince,"  replied  the  lady,  gazing  absently 
down  the  street. 

Andreas  Gross  entered  the  garden.  "  Everything  is  settled, 
Your  Highness.  I  have  talked  with  Josepha's  relatives  and 
guardian  and  they  will  be  very  glad  to  have  you  take  her." 

"  All,  even  the  Christ-Freyer  ?" 


£0  ON    THE   CROSS. 

"  Certainly,  there  is  no  objection." 

She  had  expected  something  more  and  looked  at  the  old 
man  as  if  for  the  rest  of  the  message,  but  he  added  nothing. 

"  Ought  not  Freyer  to  come  here,  in  order  to  discuss  the 
particulars  with  me  ?"  she  asked  at  last,  almost  timidly. 

"  Why,  he  goes  to  see  no  one,  as  I  told  you,  and  he  surely 
would  not  come  to  speak  of  Josepha,  for  he  is  ashamed  of  her. 
He  says  that  whatever  you  do  will  be  satisfactory  to  him." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  countess,  in  a  somewhat  dis- 
appointed tone. 

"  What  a  comical  te'te-a-tete !"  a  laughing  voice  suddenly 
exclaimed  behind  the  fence.  The  countess  started  up,  but  it 
was  too  late  for  escape ;  she  was  caught. 

A  lady,  young  and  elegantly  dressed,  accompanied  by  two 
older  ones,  eagerly  rushed  up  to  her. 

"  Dear  Countess,  why  have  you  hidden  yourself  here  at  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  village  ?  We  have  searched  all  Ammer- 
gau  for  you.  Your  coat-of-arms  on  the  carriage  and  your 
liveries  at  the  old  post-house  betrayed  you.  Yes,  yes,  when 
people  want  to  travel  incognito,  they  must  not  journey  with 
genuine  Wildenau  elegance.  We  were  more  cautious.  We 
came  in  a  modest  hired  conveyance.  But  what  a  life  this  is ! 
I  was  obliged  to  sleep  on  straw  last  night.  Hear  and  shudder! 
On  straw!  Did  you  have  a  bed?  You  have  been  here  since 
yesterday  ?" 

"  Why,  Your  Highness,  pray  take  breath !  Good  morning, 
Baroness !  Good  morning,  Your  Excellency  !" 

The  Countess  von  Wildenau  greeted  all  the  ladies  some- 
what absently,  yet  very  cordially.  "  Will  you  condescend  to 
sit  on  this  bench  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  sit  here,  too." 

"  No,  it  is  not  large  enough,  I  am  already  seated." 

She  had  taken  her  seat  on  the  roct  of  a  tree,  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  street,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be  deeply  in- 
terested. The  ladies  were  accommodated  on  the  bench,  and 
Ihen  followed  a  conversation  which  no  pen  could  describe. 
This,  that,  and  the  other  thing,  matters  to  which  the  countess 
had  not  given  a  single  thought,  an  account  of  everything  the 
new  comers  had  heard  about  the  Ammergau  people,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  Christ,  whom  they  had  already  met,  a  handsome 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  51 

man,  very  handsome,  with  magnificent  hair,  and  mysterious 
eyes — not  the  hdad  of  Christ,  but  rather  as  one  would  imagine 
Faust  or  Odin ;  but  there  was  no  approaching  him,  he  was  so 
unsociable.  Such  a  pity,  it  would  have  been  so  interesting  to' 
talk  with  him.  Rumor  asserted  that  he  was  in  love  with  a 
noble  lady ;  it  was  very  possible,  there  was  no  other  way  of 
explaining  his  distant  manner. 

Countess  von  Wildenau  had  become  very  quiet,  the  eyes 
bent  upon  the  street  had  an  expression  of  actual  suffering  in 
their  depths. 

Prince  Emil  stood  in  the  doorway,  mischievously  enjoying 
the  situation.  It  was  a  just  punishment  for  her  capricious 
whims  that  now,  after  having  so  insolently  refused  to  see  her 
friends,  she  should  be  compelled  to  listen  to  this  senseless 
chatter. 

At  last,  however,  he  took  pity  on  her  and  sent  out  his 
valet  with  the  table-cloth  and  plates. 

"  Oh,  it  is  your  dinner  hour !"  The  ladies  started  up  and 
Her  Highness  raised  her  lorgnette. 

"  Ah,  Prince  Emil's  valet !  So  the  faithful  Toggenburg  is 
with  you." 

"  Certainly,  ladies !"  said  a  voice  from  the  door,  as  the 
prince  came  forward.  "  Only  I  was  too  timid  to  venture  into 
such  a  dangerous  circle." 

Peals  of  laughter  greeted  him. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  the  Prince  of  Metten-Barnheim  timid !" 

"  At  present  I  am  merely  the  representative  of  Countess 
Wildenau's  discharged  courier,  whose  office,  with  my  usual 
devotion,  I  am  trying  to  fill,  and  doing  everything  in  my 
power  to  escape  the  fate  of  my  predecessor." 

"  That  of  being  sent  away  ?"  asked  the  baroness  somewhat 
maliciously. 

Countess  Madeleine  cast  a  glance  of  friendly  reproach  at 
him.  "  How  can  you  say  such  things,  Prince  ?" 

"  Your  soup  is  growing  cold !"  cried  the  duchess. 

"  Where  does  Your  Highness  dine  ?" 

"  At  the  house  of  one  of  the  chorus  singers,  where  we  are 
lodging.  A  man  with  the  bearing  of  an  apostle,  and  a  black- 
smith by  trade.  It  is  strange,  all  these  people  have  a  touch  of 
ideality  about  them,  and  all  this  beautiful  long  hair !  Haven't 


52  ON   THE    CROSS. 

you  walked  through  the  village  yet  ?  Oh,  you  must,  it's  very 
odd;  the  people  who  throng  around  the  actors  in  the  Passion 
Play  are  types  we  shall  not  soon  see  again.  I'm  waiting 
eagerly  for  to-morrow.  I  hope  our  seats  will  be  near.  Fare- 
well, dear  Countess!"  The  duchess  took  the  arm  of  the 
prince,  who  escorted  her  to  the  garden  gate.  "  I  hope  you 
will  take  care  that  the  countess,  under  the  influence  of  the 
Passion,  doesn't  enter  a  convent  the  day  after  to  morrow." 
,  "  Your  Highness  forgets  that  I  am  an  incorrigible  heretic," 
•laughed  Madeleine  Wildenau,  kissing  the  two  ladies  in  wait- 
ing, in  her  absence  of  mind,  with  a  tenderness  which  they 
were  at  a  loss  to  understand. 

The  prince  accompanied  the  ladies  a  short  distance  away 
from  the  house,  while  Madeleine  returned  to  Josepha,  as  if 
seeking  in  the  society  of  the  sorrowful,  quiet  creature,  rest 
from  the  noisy  conversation. 

"  Really,  Countess  von  Wildenau  has  an  over-supply  of 
blessings.  This  magnificent  widow's  dower,  the  almost  bound- 
less revenue  from  the  Wildenau  estates,  and  a  host  of 
suitors!"  said  the  baroness,  after  the  prince  had  taken  leave 
to  return  to  "  his  idol." 

"  Yes,  but  she  will  lose  the  revenue  if  she  marries  again," 
replied  the  duchess.  "  The  will  was  made  in  that  way  by 
Count  Wildenau  because  his  jealousy  extended  beyond  the 
grave.  I  know  all  the  particulars.  She  must  either  remain  a 
widow  or  make  a  very  brilliant  match ;  for  a  woman  of  her 
temperament  could  never  accommodate  herself  to  more 
modest  circumstances." 

"  So  she  is  not  a  good  match  ?"  asked  Her  Excellency. 

"  Certainly  not,  for  the  will  is  so  worded  that  on  the  day 
she  exchanges  the  name  of  Wildenau  for  another,  the  estates, 
with  the  whole  income,  go  to  a  side  branch  of  the  Wildenau 
family  as  there  are  no  direct  heirs.  It  is  enough  to  make  one 
hate  him,  for  the  Wildenau  cousins  are  extravagant  and  ava- 
ricious men  who  have  already  squandered  one  fortune.  The 
poor  countess  will  then  have  nothing  except  her  personal 
property,  her  few  diamonds,  and  whatever  gifts  she  received 
from  her  husband." 

"  Has  she  no  private  fortune  ?"  asked  the  baroness,  curiously. 

"  You  know  that  she  was  a  Princess  Prankenburg,  and  the 


MODERN    PILGRIMS.  53 

financial  affairs  of  the  Prankenburg  family  are  very  much  em- 
barrassed. That,  is  why  the  beautiful  young  girl  was  sacri- 
ficed at  seventeen  to  that  horrible  old  Wildenau,  who  in  return 
was  forced  to  pay  her  father's  debts,"  the  duchess  explained. 

"Oh,  so  thafs  the  way  the  matter  stands!"  said  Her  Ex- 
cellency, drawing  a  long  breath.  "  Do  her  various  admirers 
know  it  ?  All  the  gentlemen  undoubtedly  believe  her  to  be 
immensely  rich." 

"  Oh,  she  makes  no  secret  of  these  facts,"  replied  the 
duchess  kindly.  "  She  is  sincere,  that  must  be  acknowledged, 
and  she  endured  a  great  deal  with  her  nervous  old  husband. 
We  all  know  what  he  was ;  every  one  feared  him  and  he  tyran- 
nized over  his  wife.  What  was  all  her  wealth  and  splendor  to 
her?  One  ought  not  to  grudge  her  a  taste  of  happiness." 

"She  laid  aside  her  widow's  weeds  as  soon  as  possible. 
People  thought  that  very  suspicious,"  observed  the  baroness 
in  no  friendly  tone. 

"  That  is  exactly  why  I  say :  she  is  better  than  her  reputa- 
tion, because  she  scorns  falsehood  and  hypocrisy,"  replied  the 
duchess,  leading  the  way  across  a  narrow  bridge.  The  two 
ladies  in  waiting,  lingering  a  little  behind,  whispered :  "  She 
scorn  falsehood  and  deception  !  Why,  Your  Excellency,  her 
whole  nature  is  treachery.  She  cannot  exist  a  moment  with- 
out acting  some  farce !  With  the  pious  she  is  pious,  with  the 
Liberals  she  plays  the  Liberal,  she  coquets  with  every  party 
to  maintain  her  influence  as  ex-ambassadress.  She  cannot 
cease  intriguing  and  plotting.  Now  she  is  once  more  assum- 
ing the  part  of  youthful  artlessness  to  bewitch  this  Prince 
Emil.  Did  you  see  that  look  of  embarrassment  just  now,  like 
a  young  girl  ?  It  is  enough  to  make  one  ill !" 

"  Yes,  just  see  how  she  has  duped  that  handsome,  clever 
prince,  the  heir  of  a  reigning  family,  too,"  lamented  Her  Ex- 
cellency, who  had  daughters.  "  It  is  a  shocking  affair,  he  is 
seen  everywhere  with  her;  and  yet  there  is  no  report  of  a 
betrothal !  What  do  the  men  find  in  her  ?  She  captivates 
them  all,  young  and  old,  there  is  no  difference." 

"  And  she  is  no  longer  even  beautiful.  She  has  faded,  lost 
all  her  freshness,  it  is  nothing  but  coquetry!"  answered  the 
baroness  hastily,  for  the  duchess  had  stopped  and  was  waiting 
for  the  ladies  to  overtake  her.  So  they  walked  on  in  the 


54  ON    THE    CROSS. 

direction  of  the  Passion  Theatre  where,  on  the  morrow,  they 
were  to  behold  the  God  of  Love,  for  whose  sake  they  made 
ihis  pious  pilgrimage. 

"  You  were  rightly  served,  Countess  Madeleine,"  said  the 
prince  laughing,  as  they  took  their  seats  at  the  table.  "You 
sent  away  your  true  friends  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  these 
false  ones." 

'•  The  duchess  is  not  false,"  answered  the  countess  with  a 
weary  look,  "she  is  noble  in  thought  and  act." 

"  Like  all  who  are  in  a  position  where  they  need  envy  no 
one,"  said  the  prince,  pushing  aside  with  his  spoon  certain 
little  islands  of  doubtful  composition  which  were  floating  in  the 
soup.  "  But  believe  me,  with  these  few  exceptions,  no  one 
save  men,  deals  sincerely  with  an  admired  woman.  Women 
of  the  ordinary  stamp  cannot  repress  their  envy.  I  should 
not  like  to  hear  what  is  being  said  of  us  by  these  friends  on 
their  way  home." 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  answered  his  companion,  leaving 
her  soup  untasted. 

"  Our  poor  diplomatic  corps,  which  had  anticipated  so 
much  pleasure  in  seeing  you,"  the  prince  began  again.  "  I 
would  almost  like  to  ask  you  a  favor,  Countess ! " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  invite  us  to  dine  day  after  to-morrow.  The 
gentlemen  have  resolved  to  avenge  themselves  nobly  by 
offering  you  an  ovation  on  your  return  to  Munich  to-morrow 
evening." 

"  Indeed,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"I  ought  not  to  betray  the  secret,  but  I  know  that  you  do 
not  like  surprises.  The  Wildenau  palace  will  be  transformed 
into  a  temple  of  flowers.  Everything  is  already  ordered,  it  is 
to  be  matchless,  fairylike !  " 

The  speaker  was  secretly  watching  the  impression  made  by 
)iis  words;  he  must  get  her  away  from  this  place  at  any  cost! 
The  mysterious  figure  which  had  just  called  to  her  cheeks  a 
flush  for  whose  sake  he  would  have  sacrificed  years  of  his  life, 
then  he  had  noticed — nothing  escaped  his  keen  eye  and  ear — 
her  annoyed,  almost  jealous  expression  when  the  ladies  spoke 
of  the  "raven-locked"  Christ  and  his  love  for  some  high-born 
dame.  She  must  leave  this  place  ere  the  whim  gained  a  firm. 


MODERN   PILGRIiMS.  55 

hold.  The  worthy  peasant-performer  might  not  object  to  the 
admiration  of  noble  ladies,  a  pinchback  theatre-saint  would 
hardly  resist  a  Countess  Wildenau,  if  she  should  choose  to 
make  him  the  object  of  an  eccentric  caprice. 

"It  is  very  touching  in  the  gentlemen,"  said  the  countess; 
"let  us  anticipate  them  and  invite  them  to  dine  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"Ah,  there  spoke  my  charming  friend,  now  I  am  content 
with  you.  Will  you  permit  me,  at  the  close  of  this  luxurious 
meal,  to  carry  the  joyous  tidings  to  the  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Do  so,"  she  answered  carelessly.  "And  when  you  have 
delivered  the  invitation,  would  you  do  me  the  favor  to  tele- 
graph to  my  steward  ?  " 

"Certainly."  He  pushed  back  the  plate  containing  an 
unpalatable  cutlet  and  drew  out  his  note-book  to  make  a 
memorandum. 

"What  shall  I  write?" 

"STEWARD  GERES,  Wildenau  Palace,  Munich. — Day  after 
to-morrow,  Monday,  Dinner  at  6  o'clock,  12  plates,  15  courses," 
dictated  the  countess. 

"  There,  that  is  settled.  But,  Countess,  twelve  persons ! 
Whom  do  you  intend  to  invite  ?  " 

"  When  I  return  the  duchess'  visit  I  will  ask  the  three  ladies, 
then  Prince  Hohenheim  and  Her  Excellency's  two  daughters 
will  make  twelve." 

"  But  that  will  be  terribly  wearisome  to  the  neighbors  of 
Her  Excellency's  daughters." 

"  Yes,  still  it  can't  be  helped,  I  must  give  the  poor  girls  a 
chance  to  make  their  fortune !  With  the  exception  of  Prince 
Hohenheim,  you  are  all  in  the  market ! "  she  said  smiling. 

"No  one  could  speak  so  proudly  save  a  Countess  Wildenau, 
who  knows  that  every  other  woman  only  serves  as  a  foil,"  re- 
plied the  prince,  kissing  her  hand  with  a  significant  smile. 
She  was  remarkably  gracious  that  day;  she  permitted  her  hand 
to  rest  in  his,  there  was  a  shade  of  apology  in  her  manner. 
Apology  for  what  ?  He  had  no  occasion  to  ponder  long — 
she  was  ashamed  of  having  neglected  a  trusted  friend  for  a 
chimera,  a  nightmare,  which  had  assumed  the  form  of  a  man 
with  mysterious  black  eyes  and  floating  locks.  The  ladies' 
stories  of  the  love  affairs  of  the  presumptive  owner  of  these 


56  ON    THE    CROSS. 

locks  had  destroyed  the  dream  and  broken  the  spell  of  the 
nightmare. 

"  Admirable,  it  had  happened  very  opportunely." 

"  But,  Countess,  the  gentlemen  will  be  disappointed,  if  the 
ladies,  also,  come.  Would  it  not  be  much  pleasanter  withQut 
them  ?  You  are  far  more  charming  and  entertaining  when  you 
are  the  only  lady  present  at  our  little  smoking  parties." 

"  We  can  have  one  later.  The  ladies  will  leave  at  ten. 
Then  you  others  can  remain." 

"  And  who  will  be  sent  away  next,  when  you  are  wearied 
by  this  apres  so.ree  ?  Who  will  be  allowed  to  linger  on  a  few 
minutes  and  smoke  the  last  cigarette  with  you  ?  "  he  added, 
coaxingly.  He  looked  very  handsome  at  that  moment. 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  the  countess,  and  for  the  first  time 
her  voice  thrilled  with  a  warmer  emotion.  H  er  hand  still  rested 
in  his,  she  had  forgotten  to  withdraw  it.  Suddenly  its  warmth 
roused  her,  and  his  blue  eyes  flashed  upon  her  a  light  as 
brilliant  as  the  indiscreet  glare  which  sometimes  rouses  a 
sleeper. 

She  released  it,  and  as  the  dinner  was  over,  rose  from  the 
little  table. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  to  call  on  the  duchess  later  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  If  so,  I  will  dress  now,  while  you  give  the  invitation 
to  the  gentlemen,  and  you  can  return  afterward." 

"  As  you  choose  !  "  replied  the  prince  in  an  altered  tone, 
for  the  slight  variation  in  the  lady's  mood  had  not  escaped  his 
notice.  "  In  half  an  hour,  then.  Farewell !  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  THE  PLAY. 

JOSEPHA  sat  in  the  countess'  room  at  work  on  her  new 
dress.  She  was  calm  and  quiet ;  the  delight  in  finery  which 
never  abandons  a  woman  to  her  latest  hour — the  poorest 
peasant,  if  still  conscious,  asks  for  a  nicer  cap  when  the  priest 
comes  to  bring  the  last  sacrament — had  asserted  its  power  in 
her.  The  countess  noticed  it  with  pleasure. 

';  Shall  you  finish  it  soon,  Josepha  ?  " 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  THE  PLAY.  57 

i 

"  In  an  hour,  Your  Highness  !  " 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  return  about  that  time,  and  then  we'll 
try  the  dress  on." 

"  Oh,  your  ladyship,  it's  a  sin  for  me  to  put  on  such  a 
handsome  gown,  nobody  will  see  me." 

"  Not  here,  if  you  don't  wish  them  to  do  so,  but  to-morrow 
evening  we  shall  go  to  Munich,  where  you  will  begin  a  new 
life,  with  no  brand  upon  your  brow." 

Josepha  kissed  the  countess'  hand;  a  few  large  tears 
rolled  down  on  the  dress  which  was  to  clothe  a  new  creature. 
Then  she  helped  her  mistress  to  put  on  a  walking  toilette, 
performing  her  task  skillfully  and  quickly.  The  latter  fixed  a 
long,  thoughtful  look  upon  her.  "You  are  somewhat  like 
your  cousin,  the  Christ,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  So  people  say !  " 

"  I  suppose  he  sees  a  great  many  ladies  ?  " 

"  They  all  run  after  him,  the  high  as  well  as  the  low.  And 
it  isn't  the  strangers  only,  the  village  girls  are  crazy  over  him, 
too.  He  might  have  any  one  he  wanted,  it  seems  as  if  he 
fairly  bewitched  the  women." 

"  I  heard  that  the  reason  for  his  secluded  life  was  that  he 
had  a  love  affair  with  some  noble  lady." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Josepha  carelessly,  "  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it.  I  don't  believe  it,  though  he  would  not  tell  me, 
even  if  it  were  true.  Oh,  people  talk  about  him  so  much, 
that's  one  reason  for  the  envy.  But  his  secluded  life  isn't  on 
account  of  any  noble  lady !  He  has  had  nothing  to  say  to 
anybody  here  since  they  refused  to  let  me  take  part  in  the 
Play  and  gossiped  so  much  about  me.  Though  he  doesn't 
speak  of  it,  it  cuts  him  to  the  heart.  Alas,  I  am  to  blame,  and 
no  one  else." 

Countess  Wildenau,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  kissed  the 
girl  on  the  forehead  :  "Farewell,  keep  up  courage,  don't  weep, 
rejoice  in  your  new  life ;  I  will  soon  return." 

As  she  passed  out,  she  spoke  to  the  Gross  sisters  com- 
mending Josepha  to  their  special  care. 

"  The  gentlemen  are  delighted,  and  send  you  their  most 
grateful  homage/'  called  the  prince. 

"  Then  they  ^are  all  coming  ?"  said  Countess  Wildenau, 
taking  his  arm. 


cS  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  All,  there  was  no  hesitation !  "  he  answered,  again  notic- 
ing in  his  companion's  manner  the  restlessness  which  had 
formerly  awakened  his  anxiety.  As  they  passed  down  the 
street  together,  her  eyes  were  wandering  everywhere. 

"  She  is  seeking  some  one,"  thought  the  prince. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  charmed  with  this  Ammergau 
Christ,"  cried  the  duchess,  as  they  approached  the  black- 
smith's house.  She  was  sitting  in  the  garden,  which  con- 
tained a  tolerably  large  manure  heap,  a  "  Saletl,"  the  name 
given  to  an  open  summer-house,  and  three  fruit-trees,  amid 
which  the  clothes  lines  were  stretched.  On  the  house  was  a 
rudely  painted  Madonna,  life-size,  with  the  usual  bunch  of 
flowers,  gazing  with  a  peculiar  expression  at  the  homage 
offered  to  her  son,  or  at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  the  countess. 

"  Have  you  seen  him,  Duchess  ?  I  am  beginning  to  be 
jealous !  "  said  the  countess  with  a  laugh  intended  to  be  nat- 
ural, but  which  sounded  a  little  forced. 

The  visitors  entered  the  arbor ;  after  an  exchange  of  greet- 
ings, the  duchess  told  her  guests  that  she  had  been  with  the 
ladies  to  the  drawing-school,  where  they  had  met  Freyer. 
The  head-master  (the  son  of  Countess  von  Wildeau's  host) 
had  presented  him  to  the  ladies,  and  he  had  been  obliged  to 
exchange  a  few  words  with  them,  then  he  made  his  escape. 
They  were  "  fairly  wild."  His  bearing,  his  dignity,  the 
blended  courtesy  and  reserve  of  his  manner,  so  modest  and 
yet  so  proud,  and  those  eyes ! 

The  prince  was  on  coals  of  fire. 

The  blacksmith  was  hammering  outside,  shoeing  a  horse 
whose  hoof  was  so  crooked  that  the  iron  would  not  fit.  The 
man's  face  was  dripping  with  sooty  perspiration,  yet  when  he 
turned  it  toward  the  ladies,  they  saw  a  classic  profile  and  soft, 
dreamy  eyes. 

"  Beautiful  hair  and  eyes  appear  to  be  a  specialty  among 
the  Ammergau  peasants,"  said  the  prince  somewhat  abruptly, 
interrupting  the  duchess.  "  Look  at  yonder  smith,  wash  off 
the  soot  and  we  shall  have  a  superb  head  of  Antinous." 

"  Yes,  isn't  that  true  ?  He  is  a  splendid  fellow,  too," 
replied  the  duchess.  "  Let  us  call  him  here." 

The  smith  was  summoned  and,  wiping  the  grime  from  his 
face  with  his  shirt  sleeves,  modestly  approached.  The  prince 


THE    EVENING    BEFORE    THIi    PI. AY.  59 

watched  with  honest  admiration  the  man's  gait  and  bearing, 
clear-cut,  intelligent  features,  and  slender,  lithe  figure,  which 
betrayed  no  sign  of  his  hard  labor  save  in  the  tense  sinews 
and  muscles  of  the  arms. 

"  I  must  apologize,"  he  said  in  excellent  German — the 
Ammergau  people  use  dialect  only  when  speaking  to  one 
another — "  I  am  in  my  working  clothes  and  scarcely  fit  to  be 
s^en." 

*•  You  have  a  charming  voice.  '  Do  you  sing  baritone?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Highness,  but  I  rarely  sing  at  all.  My  voice 
unfortunately  is  much  injured  by  my  hard  toil,  and  my  fingers 
are  growing  too  stiff  to  play  on  the  piano,  so  I  cannot  accom- 
pany myself." 

"  Do  you  play  on  the  piano  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Your  Highness." 

"  Good  Heavens,  where  did  you  learn  ?  " 

"  Here  in  the  village,  Your  Highness.  Each  one  of  us 
learns  to  use  some  instrument,  else  where  should  we  obtain  an 
orchestra  for  the  Passion  ?  " 

"  Think  of  it ! "  said  the  duchess  in  French,  "  A  black- 
smith who  plays  on  the  piano ;  peasants  who  form  an  orches- 
tra! "  Then  addressing  her  host  in  German,  she  added,  "  I 
suppose  you  have  a  church  choir  !" 

"  Certainly,  Your  Highness." 

"  And  what  masses  do  you  perform  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nearly  all  the  beautiful  ones,  some  dating  from  the 
ancient  Cecilian  Church  music,  others  from  the  later  masters, 
Handel,  Bach,  down  to  the  most  modern  times.  A  short  time 
ago  I  sung  Gounod's  Ave  Maria  in  the  church,  and  this  win- 
ter we  shall  give  a  Gethsemane  by  Kempter." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  said  the  duchess,  "  c'est  unique  /  Then 
you  are  really  all  artists  and  ought  not  to  follow  such  hard 
trades." 

"  Yes,  Duchess,  but  we  must  live.  Our  wives  and  children 
must  be  supported.  All  cannot  be  wood-carvers,  smiths  are 
needed,  too.  If  the  artisan  is  not  rough,  the  trade  is  no 
disgrace." 

"  But  have  you  time,  with  your  business,  for  such  artistic 
work  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  do  it  in  the  evenings,  after  supper.    We  meet 


60  ON   THE    CROSS. 

at  half  past  seven  and  often  practise  our  music  till  twelve  or 
even  one  o'clock." 

"  Ch,  how  tired  you  must  be  to  study  far  into  the  night 
after  the  labor  of  the  day." 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  harm  us,  it  is  our  recreation  and  pleasure. 
Art  is  the  only  thing  which  lifts  men  above  their  daily  cares  ! 
I  would  not  wish  to  live,  if  I  did  not  possess  it,  and  we  all 
have  the  same  feeling." 

The  ladies  exchanged  glances. 

"  But,  when  do  you  sleep  ?  You  must  be  obliged  to  rise 
early  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  we  Ammergau  people  are  excitable,  we  need  little 
sleep.  To  bed  at  one  and  up  at  five  gives  us  rest  enough  " 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  live  well,  or  you  could  not  bear 
it." 

"  Yes,  we  live  very  well,  we  have  meat  every  Sunday," 
said  the  smith  with  much  satisfaction. 

"  C'esf  touchant!  "  cried  the  duchess.  "  Meat  once  a  week  ? 
And  the  rest  of  the  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  eat  something  made  of  flour.  My  wife  is  an 
excellent  cook,  she  was  the  cook  in  Count  P.'s  household  !  " 
he  added  with  great  pride,  casting  an  affectionate  glance  at 
the  plump  little  woman,  holding  a  child  in  her  arms,  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  house.  He  would  gladly  have  presented 
this  admirable  wife  to  the  strangers,  but  the  ladies  seemed  less 
interested  in  her. 

"  What  do  you  eat  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"  We  have  coffee  at  six  o'clock,  and  drink  a  few  glasses  of 
beer  when  we  meet  at  the  tavern." 

"  And  do  all  the  Ammergau  people  live  so  ?  " 

"  All.     No  one  wants  anything  different." 

"  Even  your  Christ  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  fares  worse  than  we,  he  is  unmarried  and  has  no 
one  to  care  for  him." 

"  What  a  life,  dear  Countess,  what  a  life ! "  the  duchess, 
murmured  in  French. 

"  But  you  have  a  piano  in  your  house.  If  you  are  able 
to  get  such  an  instrument,  you  ought  to  afford  better  food," 
said  Her  Excellency. 

The  blacksmith  smiled,     "  If  we  had  had  better  food,  we 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  THE  PLAY.  6l 

should  not  have  been  able  to  buy  the  piano.  We  saved  it 
from  our  stomachs." 

"  That  is  the  true  Ammergau  spirit,"  said  the  countess 
earnestly.  "  They  will  starve  to  secure  a  piano.  Every  en- 
deavor is  toward  the  ideal  and  the  intellectual,  for  which  they 
are  willing  to  make  any  personal  sacrifice.  I  have  never  seen 
such  people." 

"  Nor  have  I.  It  seems  as  if  the  Passion  Play  gave  them 
all  a  special  consecration,"  answered  the  duchess. 

Countess  von  Wildenau  rose.  Her  thoughts  were  so  far 
away  that  she  was  about  to  take  leave  without  remembering 
her  invitation.  But  Prince  Emil  said  impressively  : 

"  Countess,  surely  you  are  forgetting  that  you  intended  to 
invite  the  ladies — ." 

"  Yes,  yes,  "  she  interrupted,  "  it  had  almost  escaped  my 
mind."  The  smith  modestly  went  back  to  his  work,  for  the 
horse  was  growing  restless,  and  the  odor  of  burnt  horn  and 
hair  soon  pervaded  the  atmosphere. 

Meanwhile  the  countess  delivered  her  invitation,  which 
was  accepted  with  great  enthusiasm. 

A  stately,  athletic  man  in  a  blouse,  earring  a  chest  on  his 
shoulder,  passed  the  ladies.  The  burden  was  terribly  heavy, 
for  even  his  powerful,  well  knit  frame  staggered  under  it, 
and  his  handsome  kingly  head  was  bowed  almost  to  the 
earth. 

"  Look,  Countess,  that  is  Thomas  Rendner  the  Roman 
procurator.  We  shall  soon  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
whole  company.  We  sit  here  in  the  summer-house  like  a 
spider  in  its  web,  not  a  fly  can  pass  unseen." 

"  Good  Heavens,  that  Pilate !  "  exclaimed  the  countess, 
watching  him  with  sympathizing  eyes,  "  Poor  man,  to-day 
panting  under  an  oppressive  burden,  to-morrow  robed  in 
purple  and  crowned  with  a  diadem,  only  to  exchange  them 
again  on  the  third  day,  for  the  porter's  dusty  blouse,  and  take 
the  yoke  upon  himself  once  more.  What  a  contrast,  and  yet 
he  loses  neither  his  balance  nor  his  temper !  Indeed  I  think 
that  we  can  learn  as  much  here  outside  of  the  Passion  Play, 
as  from  the  spectacle  itself." 

"Yes,  if  we  watch  with  your  deep,  thoughtful  eyes,  my 
dear  Countess!"  said  the  duchess,  kissing  the  speaker's  brow. 


62  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  We  will  discuss  this  subject  farther  when  we  drive  with  you 
the  day  after  to-morrow." 

The  ladies  parted.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  leaning  on 
the  prince's  arm,  walked  silently  through  the  crowd  which  now, 
on  the  eve  of  the  play,  thronged  the  narrow  streets.  The  din 
and  tumult  were  enough  to  deprive  one  of  sight  and  hearing. 
Dazed  by  the  confusion,  she  clung  closely  to  her  companion's 
arm. 

"  Good  Heavens,  is  it  possible  that  Christianity  still  pos- 
sesses such  a  power  of  attraction  !  "  she  murmured,  involun- 
tarily, while  struggling  through  the  throng. 

The  ground  in  the  Ettal  road  trembled  under  the  roll  of 
carriage  wheels.  The  last  evening  train  had  arrived,  and  a 
flood  of  people  and  vehicles  poured  into  the  village  already 
almost  crushed  beneath  the  tide  of  human  beings.  Horses 
half  driven  to  death,  dragging  at  a  gallop  heavy  landaus 
crowded  with  six  or  eight  persons.  Lumbering  wagons  con- 
taining twenty  or  thirty  travellers  just  as  they  had  climbed  in, 
sometimes  half  clinging  to  the  steps  or  the  boxes  of  the  wheels, 
swayed  to  and  fro ;  intoxicated,  excited  by  the  mad  rush  and 
the  fear  of  being  left  behind — raging  and  shrieking  like  a  horde 
of  unchained  fiends  come  to  disturb  the  sacred  drama  rather 
than  pious  pilgrims  who  wished  to  witness  it,  the  frantic  mob 
poured  in.  "  Sauve  qui peut"  was  the  motto,  the  prince  lifted 
the  countess  on  a  small  post  by  the  roadside.  Just  at  that 
moment  the  fire-brigade  marched  by  to  watch  the  theatre. 
It  was  said  that  several  of  the  neighboring  parishes,  envious 
of  Ammergau,  had  threatened  to  ruin  the  Play  by  setting  the 
theatre  on  fire.  Fire  engines  and  strangers'  carriages  passed 
pell-mell.  The  people  of  Ammergau  themselves,  alarmed  and 
enraged  by  the  cruel  threat,  were  completely  disconcerted; 
passionate  discussions,  vehement  commands,  and  urgent  en- 
treaties were  heard  on  all  sides.  Prompt  and  energetic  action 
was  requisite,  the  fate  of  all  Ammergau  was  at  stake. 

The  bells  now  began  to  ring  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
first  of  the  twenty-five  cannon  shots  which  were  to  consecrate 
the  morrow's  festival  was  discharged,  and  the  musicians  passed 
through  the  streets. 

The  air  fairly  quivered  with  the  deafening  uproar  of  all 
these  mingling  waves  of  sound.  Darkness  was  gathering,  the 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE    THE    PLAY.  63 

> 

countess  grew  giddy,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  stifling  in  the 
tumult.  A  pair  of  horses  fell  just  below  them,  causing  a  break 
in  the  line  of  carriages,  which  the  prince  used  to  get  his  com- 
panion across,  and  she  at  last  reached  home,  almost  fainting. 
Her  soul  was  stirred  to  its  inmost  depths.  What  was  the 
power  which  produced  such  effects  ? 

Was  this  the  calm,  petty  doctrine,  which  had  been  incul- 
cated so  theoretically  and  coldly  at  the  school-room  desk  and 
from  the  pulpit,  and  with  which,  when  a  child,  she  has  been 
disgusted  by  an  incomprehensible  school-catechism  ?  Was 
this  the  doctrine  which,  from  earliest  childhood,  had  been 
nothing  more  than  a  wearisome  dead  letter,  to  which,  as  it  had 
become  the  religion  of  the  state,  an  official  visit  to  church  was 
due  from  time  to  time,  just  as,  on  certain  days,  cards  were  left 
on  ambassadors  and  government  officials  ? 

The  wind  still  bore  from  the  village  the  noise  of  the  throngs 
of  people,  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  and  the  thunder  of  the  can- 
non, blended  with  occasional  bursts  of  music.  The  countess 
had  had  similar  experiences  when  tidings  of  great  victories  had 
been  received  during  the  last  war,  but  those  were  facts.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  asked  herself  if  Christianity  was  a 
fact  ?  And  if  not,  if  it  was  only  an  idea,  what  inherent  power, 
after  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  thousand  years,  produced  such 
an  effect  ? 

Why  did  all  these  people  come — why  did  she  herself?  The 
human  race  is  homesick,  it  no  longer  knows  for  what;  it  is 
only  a  vague  impulse,  but  one  which  instinctively  draws  it  in 
the  direction  where  it  perceives  a  sign,  a  vestige  of  what  it  has 
lost  and  forever  seeks.  Such,  she  knows  it  now,  such  is  the 
feeling  of  all  the  throngs  that  have  flocked  hither  to-day,  she 
realized  that  at  this  moment  she  was  a  microcosm  of  weary, 
wandering  mankind  seeking  for  salvation. 

And  as  when,  deceived  and  disappointed  in  everything,  we 
seek  the  picture  of  some  dead  friend,  long  since  forgotten,  and 
press  it  weeping  to  our  lips,  she  clung  to  the  image  of  the 
Redeemer.  Now  that  everything  had  deluded  her,  no  system 
which  had  boastfully  promised  a  victory  over  calamity  and 
death  had  stood  the  test,  after  one  makeshift  had  supplanted 
another  without  supplying  what  was  lacking,  after  all  the 
vaunted  remedies  of  philosophy  and  materialism  proved  mere 


64  ON   THE   CROSS. 

palliatives  which  make  the  evil  endurable  for  tne  moment  but 
do  not  heal  it,  suffering,  cheated  humanity  was  suddenly  seek- 
ing the  image  of  the  lost  friend  so  long  forgotten.  But  a  dead 
friend  cannot  come  forth  from  a  picture,  a  painted  heart  can 
no  longer  beat.  Could  Christ  rise  again  in  His  image? 
Could  His  word  live  once  more  on  the  lips  of  a  stranger  ? 
And  would  the  drops  of  artificial  blood,  trickling  from  the 
brow  of  the  personified  Messiah,  possess  redeeming  power  ? 

That  was  the  miracle  which  attracted  the  throngs  from  far 
and  near,  that  must  be  the  marvel,  and  to  morrow  it  would  be 
revealed. 

"  Of  what  are  you  dreaming,  Countess  Madeleine  ?  "  asked 
the  prince  after  a  pause  which  she  had  spent  in  the  wild-grape 
arbor  near  the  house  gazing  into  vacancy,  with  her  head  rest- 
ing on  her  hand.  She  looked  up,  glancing  at  him  as  if  she  had 
entirely  forgotten  his  presence.  <;  I  don't  know  what  is  the 
cause  of  my  emotion,  the  tumult  in  the  village  has  stirred  me 
deeply  !  I  feel  that  only  potent  things  could  send  such  a  storm 
before  them,  and  it  seems  as  if  it  was  the  portent  of  some  won- 
derful event ! " 

"  Good  Heavens !  What  extravagant  fancies,  my  dear 
Countess !  I  believe  you  add  to  all  your  rich  gifts  the  dan- 
gerous one  of  poesy !  I  admire  and  honor  you  for  it — but  I 
can  perceive  in  this  storm  nothing  save  a  proof  that  curiosity 
is  the  greatest  and  most  universal  trait  in  human  character, 
and  that  these  throngs  desire  nothing  more  than  the  satisfaction 
of  their  curiosity.  The  affair  is  fashionable  just  now,  and  that 
explains  the  whole." 

"  Prince,  I  pity  you  for  what  you  have  just  said,"  replied 
the  countess,  rising.  Her  face  wore  the  same  cold,  lifeless  ex- 
pression as  on  the  day  of  her  arrival. 

"  But,  my  dearest  friend,  for  Heavens's  sake  tell  me,  did 
you  and  /come  from  any  other  motive  than  curiosity ?'' 

"  You,  no !    I,  yes  !  " 

"  Don't  say  that,  chere  amie.  You,  the  scholar,  superior 
to  us  all  in  learning ;  you,  the  disciple  of  Schopenhauer,  the 
proud  philosopher,  the  believer  in  Nirvana." 

"  Yes,  I,  Prince!  "cried  the  countess,  "  The  philosopher  who 
was  not  happy  for  an  hour,  not  content  for  a  moment.  What 
is  this  Nirvana  ?  A  stone  idol,  which  the  fruitless  speculation 


THE    EVENING    BEFORE  THE  PLAY.  6$ 

of  our  times  has' conjured  from  the  rubbish  of  archaeological 
excavations,  and  which  stares  at  us  with  its  vacant  eyes  until 
we  fall  into  an  intellectual  hypnotism  which  we  mistake  for* 
peace."  An  expression  of  bitter  sarcasm  rested  on  her  lips. 
"  I  came  here  to  bring  pessimism  and  Christianity  face  to  face. 
I  thought  it  would  be  very  novel  to  see  the  stone  idol  Nirvana, 
with  his  hands  on  his  lap  and  the  silence  of  eternal  death  on 
his  lips,  watch  the  martyr,  dripping  with  sweat  and  blood, 
bear  His  own  cross  to  the  place  of  execution  and  cheerfully 
take  up  the  work  where  Buddha  faltered ;  on  the  boundary  of 
non-exsistence.  I  wanted  to  see  how  the  two  would  treat  each 
other,  if  for  nothing  more  than  a  comparative  study  of  religion." 

"  You  are  irresistible  in  your  charming  mockery,  dearest 
Countess,  yet  logically  I  cannot  confess  myself  conquered ! " 
replied  the  prince.  The  countess  smiled  :  "  Of  course,  when 
did  a  man  ever  acknowledge  that  to  a  woman,  where  intel- 
lectual matters  were  concerned  ?  A  sunny  curl,  the  seductive 
arch  of  an  upper  lip,  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  sparkling  with  tears 
will  make  you  lords  of  creation  the  dupes  of  the  most  ordinary 
coquette  or  even  the  yielding  toy  of  the  dullest  ignorance. 
We  women  all  know  it !  But,  if  we  assail  your  dry  logic,  you 
are  as  unconquerable  as  Antaeus  so  long  as  he  stood  upon  the 
earth  !  You,  too,  could  only  be  vanquished  by  whoever  had 
the  power  to  lift  you  from  the  ground  where  you  stand." 

"  You  might  have  that  power,  Countess.  Not  by  your 
arguments,  but  by  your  eyes.  You  know  that  one  loving  glance 
would  not  only  lift  me  from  the  earth  but  into  heaven,  and 
then  you  could  do  with  me  what  you  would." 

"  You  have  forfeited  the  loving  glance !  Perhaps  it  might 
have  rewarded  your  assent,  but  it  would  never  purchase  it,  I 
scorn  bribed  judges,  for  I  am  sure  of  my  cause !  " 

"  Countess,  pardon  my  frankness :  it  is  a  pity  that  you  have 
so  much  intellect." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  leads  you  into  sophistical  by-ways ;  your  ten- 
dency to  mysticism  gives  an  apparently  logical  foundation  and 
thereby  strengthens  you  the  more  in  this  dangerous  course. 
A  more  simple,  temperate  judgment  would  guard  you  from  it." 

"  Well,  Prince — "  she  looked  at  him  pityingly,  contemptu- 
ously— "  may  Heaven  perserve  me  from  such  a  judgment  as 

5 


66  ON    THE    CROSS. 

well  as  from  all  who  may  seek  to  supply  its  place  to  me. 
Excuse  me  for  this  evening.  I  should  like  to  devote  an  hour 
to  these  worthy  people  and  soothe  my  nerves — I  have  been 
too  much  excited  by  the  scenes  we  have  witnessed.  Good- 
night, Prince !" 

Prince  Emil  turned  pale.  "  Good-night,  Countess.  Per- 
haps to-morrow  you  will  be  somewhat  more  humane  in  this 
cat  and  mouse  game ;  to-day  I  am  sent  home  with  a  bleeding 
wound."  With  lips  firmly  compressed,  he  bowed  his  farewell 
and  left  the  garden.  Madeleine  looked  after  him :  "  He  is 
angry.  I  cannot  help  him,  he  deserved  it.  Oh,  foolish  man, 
who  deemed  yourself  so  clever !  Do  you  suppose  this  glow- 
ing heart  desires  no  other  revelations  than  those  of  pure 
reason  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  the  arguments  of  all  the  phil- 
osophical systems  of  humanity  could  offer  it  that  for  which  it 
longs  ?  Shall  I  find  it  ?  Heaven  knows  !  But  one  thing  is 
certain,  I  shall  no  longer  seek  it  in  you." 

The  sound  of  moans  and  low  sobs  came  from  the  chamber 
above  the  countess'  room.  It  was  Josepha.  Countess  Wil- 
denau  passed  through  the  little  trap-door  and  entered  it.  The 
girl  was  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  with  her  face  buried  in  the 
pillows,  to  shut  out  the  thunder  of  the  cannon  and  the  sound 
of  the  bells,  which  summoned  the  actors  in  the  sacred  Play 
from  which  she  alone,  the  sinner,  the  outcast,  was  shut  out. 

Mary  Magdalene,  too,  had  sinned  and  erred,  yet  she  had 
been  suffered  to  remain  near  the  Lord.  She  was  permitted  to 
touch  His  divine  body  and  to  wipe  His  feet  with  her  hair ! 
But  she  was  not  allowed  to  render  this  service  to  His  image  / 
She  grasped  the  mass  of  wonderful  silken  locks  which  fell  in 
loosened  masses  over  her  shoulders.  What  did  she  care  for 
this  beautiful  hair  now  ?  She  would  fain  cut  it  off  and  throw 
it  into  the  Ammer  or,  better  still,  bury  it  in  the  earth,  the 
earth  on  which  the  Passion  Theatre  stood.  With  a  hasty 
movement,  she  snatched  a  pair  of  shears  which  lay  beside  the 
bed,  and  just  as  the  countess'  foot  touched  the  threshold,  a 
sharp,  cutting  sound  was  heard  and  the  most  beautiful  red 
hair  that  ever  adorned  a  girl's  head  fell  like  a  dying  flame  at 
her  feet.  "  Josepha,  what  are  you  doing  ?"  cried  the  countess, 
"  Oh,  what  a  pity  to  lose  that  magnificent  hair!" 

"  What  do  I  care  for  it  ?"  sobbed  Josepha.     "  It  can  never 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  67 

be  seen  in  the  Play !  When  the  performance  is  over,  I  will 
slip  into  the  theatre  before  we  leave  and  bury  it  under  the 
stage,  where  the  cross  stands.  There  I  will  leave  it,  there  if 
shall  stay,  since  I  am  no  longer  able  to  make  it  serve  Him." 
She  threw  herself  into  the  countess'  arms  and  hid  her  tear- 
stained  face  upon  her  bosom.  Alas,  she  was  not  even  allowed 
to  appear  among  the  populace,  she  alone  was  banished  from 
the  cross,  yet  she  knew  that  the  real  Saviour  would  have 
suffered  her  to  be  at  His  feet  as  well  as  Mary  Magdalene. 

"  Console  yourself,  Josepha,  your  belief  does  not  deceive 
you.  The  real  Christ  would  not  have  punished  you  so  cruelly. 
Men  are  always  more  severe  than  God.  Whence  should  they 
obtain  divine  magnanimity,  they  are  so  petty.  They  are  like 
a  servant  who  is  arrogant  and  avaricious  for  his  master 
because  he  does  not  understand  his  wishes  and  turns  from  the 
door  the  poor  whom  his  master  would  gladly  have  welcomed 
and  refreshed."  She  kissed  the  young  girl's  brow.  "  Be 
calm,  Josepha,  gather  up  your  hair,  you  shall  bury  it  to-mor- 
row in  the  earth  which  is  so  dear  to  you.  I  promise  that  I 
will  think  of  you  when  the  other  Magdalene  appears ;  your 
shadow  shall  stand  between  her  and  me,  so  that  I  shall  see 
you  alone !  Will  this  be  a  slight  consolation  to  you  ?" 

Josepha,  for  the  first  time,  looked  up  into  the  countess' 
eyes  with  a  smile.  "  Yes,  it  is  a  comfort.  Ah,  you  are  so  kind, 
you  take  pity  on  me  while  all  reproach  and  condemn  me." 

"  Oh,  Josepha !  If  people  judged  thus,  which  of  us  would 
be  warranted  in  casting  the  first  stone  at  you  ?"  The  count- 
ess uttered  the  words  with  deep  earnestness,  and  thoughtfully 
left  the  room. 

CHAPTER   VII. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY. 

DAY  was  dawning.  The  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun, 
ever  broader  and  brighter,  were  darting  through  the  air, 
whose  blue  waves  surged  and  quivered  under  the  flaming 
coursers  of  the  ascending  god  of  day.  Aphrodite  seemed  to 
have  bathed  and  left  her  veil  in  the  foam  of  the  wild  mountain 
stream  into  which  the  penitent  Magdalene  had  tried  to  throw 


68  ON    THE    CROSS. 

herself.  Apollo  in  graceful  sport,  had  gathered  the  little  white 
clouds  to  conceal  the  goddess  and  they  waved  and  fluttered 
merrily  in  the  morning  breeze  around  the  rushing  chariot. 
Then,  as  if  the  thundering  hoof-beats  of  the  fiery  chargers  had 
echoed  from  the  vaulted  arch  of  the  firmament,  the  solemn 
roar  of  cannon  announced  the  approach  of  the  other  god,  the 
poor,  unassuming,  scourged  divinity  in  His  beggar-garb.  The 
radiant  charioteer  above  curbed  his  impatient  steeds  and  gazed 
down  from  his  serene  height  upon  the  conflict,  the  torturing, 
silent  conflict  of  suffering  upon  the  bloody  battlefield  of  the 
timorous  earth.  Smiling,  he  shook  his  divine  head,  for  he 
could  not  understand  the  cause  of  all  this.  Why  should  a 
god  impose  upon  Himself  such  misery  and  humiliation  !  But 
he  knows  that  He  was  a  more  powerful  god,  for  he  was  forced 
to  fly  from  the  zenith  when  the  former  rose  from  His  grave. — 
So  thought  Helios,  glancing  over  at  the  gentle  goddess  Selene, 
whose  wan  face,  paling  in  his  presence,  was  turned  full  toward 
the  earth.  She  could  not  bear  to  behold  the  harrowing  spec- 
tacle, she  was  the  divinity  of  peace  and  slumber,  so,  averting 
her  mild  countenance,  she  bade  Helios  farewell  and  floated 
away  to  happier  realms. 

Blest  gods,  ye  who  sit  throned  in  eternal  beauty,  eternal 
peace;  ye  who  are  untouched  by  the  grief  and  suffering  of 
the  human  race,  who  descend  to  earth  merely  to  taste  the  joys 
of  mortals  when  it  pleases  ye  to  add  them  to  your  divine  de- 
lights, look  down  upon  the  gods  whom  sorrowing  humanity, 
laden  with  the  primeval  curse,  summoned  from  his  heaven  to 
aid,  where  none  of  ye  aided,  to  give  what  none  of  ye  gave,  the 
heart's  blood  of  love  /  Gaze  from  your  selfish  pleasures,  ye  gay 
Hellenic  deities,  behold  from  your  Valhalla,  grim  divinities  of 
the  Norsemen,  look  hither,  ye  dull,  stupid  idols  of  ancient 
India,  hither  where,  from  love  for  the  human  race,  a  god  bleeds 
upon  the  martyr's  cross — behold  and  turn  pale !  For  when  the 
monstrous  deed  is  done,  and  the  night  has  passed,  He  will  cast 
aside  His  humble  garb  and  shine  in  His  divine  glory.  Ye  will 
then  be  nothing  but  the  rainbow  which  shimmers  in  changeful 
hues  above  His  head!  "  Excelsior!"  echoes  a  voice  through 
the  pure  morning-sky  and :  "  Gloria  in  excelsis,  Deo !"  peals 
from  the  church,  as  the  priests  chant  the  early  mass. 

An  hour  later  the  prince  stopped  before  the  door  in  a 


THE    PASSION   PLAY.  69 

carriage  to  coirvey  the  countess  to  the  Passion  Theatre,  for 
the  way  was  long  and  rough. 

He  gave  the  Gross  sisters  strict  orders  to  have  everything 
ready  for  Countess  Wildenau's  departure  at  the  close  of  the 
performance. 

"  The  carriages  must  stand  packed  with  the  luggage 
before  the  theatre  when  we  come  out.  The  new  maid  must 
not  be  late." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  made  no  objection  to  all  this, 
she  was  very  pale  and  deeply  agitated.  Ludwig  Gross,  who 
was  also  just  going  to  the  theatre,  was  obliged  to  enter  the 
carriage,  too;  the  countess  would  listen  to  no  refusal.  The 
prince  looked  coldly  at  him.  Ludwig  Gross  raised  his  hat, 
saying  courteously : 

"  May  I  request  an  introduction  ?" 

The  lady  blushed.  "  Herr  Gross,  head-master  of  the 
drawing- school !"  She  paused  a  moment  in  embarrassment, 
Ludwig's  bronze  countenance  still  retained  its  expectant 
expression. 

"The  Hereditary  Prince  of  Metten-Barnheim,"  said  the 
prince,  relieving  the  countess'  embarrassment,  and  raising  his 
hat. 

The  drawing-master's  delicate  tact  instantly  perceived 
Prince  E mil's  generous  intention. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  with  a  shade  of  bashfulness,  "  I 
did  not  know  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  gentleman  of 
such  high  rank — " 

"  No,  no,  you  were  perfectly  right,"  interrupted  Prince 
Emil,  who  was  pleased  with  the  man's  modest  confidence, 
and  immediately  entered  into  conversation  with  him.  He 
asked  various  questions,  and  Ludwig  described  how  he  was 
frequently  compelled  to  get  suitable  figures  for  his  tableau 
from  the  forests  and  the  fields,  because  the  better  educated 
people  all  had  parts  assigned  to  them,  and  how  difficult  it 
was  to  work  with  this  untrained  material;  especially  as  he 
had  barely  two  or  three  minutes  to  arrange  a  tableau  contain- 
ing three  hundred  persons. 

The  countess  gazed  absently  at  the  motley  throngs  surg- 
ing toward  the  Passion  Theatre.  The  fresh  morning  breeze 
blew  into  the  carriage.  All  nature  was  full  of  gladness,  a 


70  ON    THE    CROSS. 

festal  joy  which  even  the  countess'  richly  caparisoned  horses 
seemed  to  share,  for  they  pranced  gaily  and  dashed  swiftly  on 
as  if  they  would  fain  vie  with  the  sun-god's  steeds  above.  The 
Bavarian  flags  on  the  Passion  Theatre  fluttered  merrily  against 
the  blue  sky,  and  now  another  discharge  of  cannon  announced 
the  commencement  of  the  performance.  The  carriage  made 
its  way  with  much  difficulty  through  the  multitude  to  the  en- 
trance, which  was  surrounded  by  natives  of  Ammergau. 
Ludwig  Gross  ordered  the  driver  to  stop,  and  sprang  out. 
All  respectfully  made  way  for  him,  raising  their  hats :  "  Ah, 
H err  Gross!  The  drawing-master!  Good-day!" 

"  Good-day,"  replied  Ludwig  Gross,  then  unceremoni- 
ously giving  the  countess  his  arm,  requested  the  prince  to 
follow  and  led  them  through  several  side  passages,  to  which 
strangers  were  not  admitted,  into  the  space  reserved  for  boxes, 
where  two  fine-looking  young  men,  also  members  of  the  Gross 
family,  the  "  ushers  "  were  taking  tickets.  Ludwig  lifted  his 
hat  and  left  them  to  go  to  his  work.  The  prince  shook  hands 
with  him  and  expressed  his  thanks.  "  A  cultured  man !"  he 
said,  after  Ludwig  had  gone.  Meanwhile  one  of  the  ushers 
had  conducted  the  countess  to  her  seat. 

There  directly  before  her  lay  the  long-desired  goal!  A 
huge  amphitheatre  built  in  the  Greek  style.  Between  the 
boxes,  which  overlooked  the  whole,  and  the  stage,  under  the 
open  sky,  extended  a  vast  space,  whose  seats  rose  to  the 
height  of  a  house.  The  orchestra,  too,  was  roofless,  as  also 
were  the  proscenium  and  the  stage,  at  whose  extreme  right 
and  left  stood  the  houses  of  Pilate  and  Caiaphas,  between 
which  stretched  the  streets  of  Jerusalem.  The  chorus  was 
stationed  on  the  proscenium  and  here  all  the  great  scenes  in 
which  the  populace  took  part  were  performed.  The  main 
stage,  occupying  the  centre  only,  as  in  the  Greek  theatre,  was 
a  temple-like  covered  building  with  a  curtain,  in  a  certain 
sense  a  theatre  within  a  theatre,  where  the  scenes  that  re- 
quired a  smaller  frame  were  set.  Beyond,  the  whole  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  amphitheatre  of  the  lofty  mountains  gazing 
down  in  majestic  repose,  surmounting  and  crowning  all. 

The  orchestra  was  playing  the  last  bars  of  the  overture 
and  the  surging  and  hum  of  the  thousands  who  were  finding 
their  seats  had  at  last  ceased.  The  chorus  came  forward,  all 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  7 1 

i 

the  singers  clad  in  the  Greek  costume,  at  their  head  as  chora- 
gus  Johannes  Diemer,  arrayed  in  diadem  and  toga.  A  ma- 
jestic figure  of  true  priestly  dignity,  he  moved  across  the 
stage,  fully  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  sublime  drama  which 
it  was  his  honorable  office  to  open.  Deep  silence  now 
reigned  throughout  the  audience.  It  seemed  as  if  nature  her- 
self was  listening  outside,  the  whispering  morning  breeze  held 
its  breath,  and  not  a  single  bird-note  was  heard.  The  repose 
of  the  Sabbath  spread  its  wings  protectingly  over  the  whole 
scene,  that  nothing  should  disturb  this  consecrated  mood. 

As  the  stately  figures  advanced  wearing  their  costly  robes 
with  as  much  dignity  as  if  they  had  never  been  clad  in  any 
other  garments,  or  would  be  forced  again  to  exchange  them 
for  the  coarse  torn  blouse  of  toil ;  as  they  began  to  display 
the  art  acquired  with  such  self-sacrificing  devotion  after  a 
wearisome  day  of  labor,  and  the  choragus  in  the  purest, 
noblest  intonation  began  the  first  lines  : 

"  Sink  prostrate,  overwhelmed  with  sacred  awe, 
Oh,  human  race,  bowed  by  the  curse  of  God  !" 

the  countess'  heart  was  suddenly  stirred  by  a  new  emotion 
and  tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  Eternal  God,  Thy  stammering  children  hear, 
For  children's  language,  aye,  is  stammering." 

In  these  words  the  devout  lips  expressed  the  sacred  mean- 
ing underlying  the  childish  pastime,  and  those  who  heard  it 
feel  themselves  once  more  children — children  of  the  one  om- 
nipresent Father. 

The  prologue  was  over.  The  curtain  of  the  central  stage 
rolled  up,  and  the  first  tableau,  the  expulsion  of  Adam  and 
Eve  from  Paradise,  was  revealed.  Countess  Madeleine  gazed 
at  it  with  kindly  eyes,  for  Ludwig  Gross'  refined  artistic  in- 
stinct was  visible  to  her,  his  firm  hand  had  shaped  the  rude 
material  into  these  graceful  lines.  A  second  tableau  followed 
— the  Adoration  of  the  Cross.  An  empty  cross,  steeped  in 
light,  stood  on  a  height  worshipped  by  groups  of  children 
and  angels.  The  key-note  was  thus  given  and  the  drama 
began. — The  first  scene  was  before  the  temple  at  Jerusalem — 
the  Saviour's  entry  was  expected.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's 
heart  throbbed  heavily.  She  did  not  herself  know  the  cause 


72  ON   THE    CROSS. 

of  her  emotion — it  almost  robbed  her  of  breath — will  it  be  he 
whom  she  expects,  to  whom  she  is  bound  by  some  incompre- 
hensible, mysterious  spell  ?  Will  she  find  him  ? 

Shouts  of  "  Hosanna !  "  echoed  from  the  distance — an  in- 
creasing tumult  was  audible.  A  crowd  of  people,  rejoicing 
and  singing  praises,  poured  out  of  the  streets  of  Jerusalem — 
the  first  heralds  of  the  procession  appeared,  breathlessly  an- 
nouncing His  approach. 

An  indescribable  fear  overpowered  the  countess — but  it  now 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  did  not  dread  the  man  whom  she  ex- 
pected to  see,  but  Him  he  was  to  personate.  The  audience, 
too,  became  restless,  a  vibrating  movement  ran  like  a  faint 
whisper  through  the  multitude  :  "  He  is  coming !  " 

The  procession  now  poured  upon  the  stage,  a  surging  mass 
— passionately  excited  people  waving  palms,  and  in  their 
midst,  mounted  on  a  miserable  beast  of  burden — the  Master 
of  the  World. 

The  countess  scarcely  dared  to  look,  she  feared  the  dis- 
mounting, which  might  shock  her  aesthetic  sense.  But  lightly 
as  a  thought,  with  scarcely  a  movement,  he  had  already 
slipped  from  the  animal,  not  one  of  the  thousands  saw  how. 

"  It  is  he !  "  Madeleine's  brain  whirled,  an  unspeakable  joy 
overwhelmed  her:  "When  shall  I  behold  thee  face  to  face!" 
her  own  words,  spoken  the  evening  before,  rang  in  her  ears 
and — the  realization  was  standing  before  her. 

"  The  Christ !  " — a  thrill  of  reverence  stirred  the  throng. 
Aye,  it  was  He,  from  head  to  foot!  He  had  not  uttered  a 
word,  yet  all  hearts  sank  conquered  at  his  feet.  Aye,  that  was 
the  glance,  the  dignity,  the  calmness  of  a  God !  That  was 
the  soul  which  embraced  and  cherished  a  world — that  was  the 
heart  of  love  which  sacrificed  itself  for  man — died  upon  the 
cross. 

Now  the  lips  parted  and,  like  an  airy,  winged  genius  the 
words  soared  upward :  A  voice  like  an  angel's  shouting 
through  the  universe :  "  Peace,  peace  on  earth  !  " — now  clear 
and  resonant  as  Easter  bells,  now  gentle  and  tender  as  a 
mother's  soothing  song  beside  the  bed  of  her  sick  child. 
"  Source  of  love — thou  art  He  !  " 

Mute,  motionless,  as  if  transfigured,  the  countess  gazed  at 
the  miracle — and  with  her  thousands  in  the  same  mood.  But 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  73 

from  her  a  secret  bond  stretched  to  him — from  her  alone 
among  the  thousands — a  prophetic,  divine  bond,  woven  by 
their  yearning  souls  on  that  night  after  she  had  beheld  the 
face  from  which  the  God  so  fervently  implored  now  smiled 
consent. 

The  drama  pursued  its  course. 

Christ  looked  around  and  perceived  the  traders  with  their 
wares,  and  the  tables  of  the  money-changers  in  the  court  of 
the  temple.  As  cloud  after  cloud  gradually  rises  in  the  blue 
sky  and  conceals  the  sun,  noble  indignation  darkened  the 
mild  countenance,  and  the  eyes  flashed  with  a  light  which  re- 
minded Helios,  watching  above,  of  the  darts  of  Zeus. 

"  My  House,"  saith  the  Lord,  "  shall  be  called  a  house  of 
prayer,  but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves ! "  And  as 
though  His  wrath  was  a  power,  which  emanating  from  Him 
acted  without  any  movement  of  His,  a  hurricane  seemed  to 
sweep  over  the  stands  of  the  traders,  while  not  a  single  vehe- 
ment motion  destroyed  the  calmness  of  the  majestic  figure. 
The  tables  were  overthrown,  the  money  rolled  on  the  ground, 
the  cages  of  the  doves  burst  open,  and  the  frightened  birds 
soared  with  arrowy  speed  over  the  heads  of  the  spectators. 
The  traders  raged  and  shrieked,  "  My  doves,  my  doves !  My 
money!"  and  rushed  to  save  the  silver  coins  and  scattered 
wares.  But  He  stood  motionless  amid  the  tumult,  like  the 
stone  of  which  He  said:  "Whosoever  shall  fall  upon  that 
stone  shall  be  broken ;  but  on  whomsoever  it  shall  fall,  it  will 
grind  him  to  powder." 

Then,  with  royal  dignity,  He  swung  the  scourge  over  the 
backs  bowed  to  seize  their  paltry  gains.  "  Take  these  things 
hence,  make  not  my  Father's  house  a  house  of  merchandise !" 
He  did  not  strike,  yet  it  seemed  as  though  the  scourge  had 
fallen,  for  the  dealers  fled  in  wild  confusion  before  the  uplifted 
hand,  and  terror  seized  the  Pharisees.  They  perceived  that 
He  who  stood  before  them  was  strong  enough  to  crush  them 
all !  His  breath  had  the  might  of  the  storm,  His  glance  was 
consuming  flame — His  lash  felled  without  striking — He  need 
only  will,  and  "  in  three  days  "  He  would  build  a  new  temple 
as  He  boasted.  Roaring  like  the  sea  in  a  tempest,  the  exult- 
ing populace  surrounded  Him,  yielding  to  His  sway  as  the 
waves  recede  before  the  breath  of  the  mighty  ruler. — Aye,  this 


74  ON   THE    CROSS. 

was  the  potent  spirit  of  the  Jehovah  of  the  Jews,  tlic  Zeus  of 
the  Greeks,  the  Jupiter  of  the  Romans.  This  man  was  the 
Son  of  the  God  who  created  Heaven  and  earth,  and  it  would 
be  an  easy  matter  for  the  Heir  of  this  power  to  crush  the 
Pharisees  without  stirring  a  finger — if  He  desired,  but  that  was 
the  point ;  it  was  not  His  will,  for  His  mission  was  a  different 
one !  The  head  once  more  drooped  humbly,  the  brow,  cor- 
rugated with  anger,  smoothed.  "  I  have  done  my  Father's 
bidding — I  have  saved  the  honor  of  His  House  !"  The  storm 
died  away  into  a  whisper,  and  the  mild  gaze  rested  forgivingly 
upon  His  foes. 

The  countess*  virile  heart  almost  rebelled  against  this  hu- 
mility, and  would  fain  have  cried  out:  "Thou  ar/the  Son  of 
God,  help  Thyself!"  Her  sense  of  justice,  formed  according 
to  human  ideas,  was  opposed  to  this  toleration,  this  sacrifice  of 
the  most  sacred  rights !  Like  Helios  in  the  vault  above,  she 
could  not  understand  the  grandeur,  the  divinity  of  self  humili- 
ation, of  suffering  truth  and  purity  to  be  judged  by  falsehood 
and  hyprocrisy — instead  of  using  His  own  power  to  destroy 
them. 

As  if  the  personator  of  Christ  suspected  her  thoughts  he  sud- 
denly fixed  his  glance,  above  the  thousands  of  heads,  directly 
upon  her  and  like  a  divine  message  the  words  fell  from  his  lips  : 
"  But  in  many  hearts,  day  will  soon  dawn  !"  Then,  turning 
with  indescribable  gentleness  to  His  disciples,  He  added : 
"  Come,  let  us  go  into  the  temple  and  there  worship  the 
Father!"  He  walked  toward  it,  yet  it  did  not  seem  as  if 
his  feet  moved;  He  vanished  from  the  spectators'  eyes  noise- 
lessly, gradually,  like  the  fleeting  of  a  happy  moment. 

The  countess  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand — she  felt  as  if 
she  were  dreaming  a  sadly  beautiful  dream.  The  prince 
watched  her  silently,  but  intently.  Nods  and  gestures  of 
greeting  came  from  the  boxes  on  all  sides — from  the  duchess, 
the  diplomatic  corps,  and  numerous  acquaintances  who  hap- 
pened to  be  there — but  the  countess  saw  nothing. 

The  drama  went  on.  It  was  the  old  story  of  the  warfare  of 
baseness  against  nobility,  falsehood  against  truth.  The  Phari- 
sees availed  themselves  of  the  injury  to  the  tradesmen's  inter- 
ests to  make  them  their  allies.  The  populace,  easily  deluded, 
was  incited  against  the  agitator  from  "  Galilee,"  who  wished 


THE  PASSION    PLAY.  75 

to  rob  them  of  the  faith  of  their  fathers  and  drive  the  dealers 
from  the  temple.  So  the  conspiracy  arose  and  swelled  to  an 
avalanche  to  crush  the  sacred  head !  Christ  had  dealt  a  rude 
blow  to  all  that  was  base  in  human  nature,  but  baseness  was 
the  greater  power,  to  which  even  God  must  succumb  while 
He  remained  a  dweller  upon  earth.  But,  even  in  yielding,  He 
conquered — death  bestowed  the  palm  of  victory ! 

Between  the  first  and  second  act  was  a  tableau,  "Joseph 
sold  by  his  Brethren."  With  thoughtful  discrimination  every 
important  incident  in  the  Play  was  suggested  by  a  correspond- 
ing event  in  the  Old  Testament,  represented  by  a  tableau,  in 
order  to  show  the  close  connection  between  the  Old  and 
the  New  Testament  and  verify  the  words:  "that  all  things 
which  are  written  may  be  fulfilled." 

At  last  the  curtain  rose  again  and  revealed  the  Sanhedrim 
assembled  for  judgment.  Here  sat  the  leaders  of  the  people 
of  Israel,  and  also  of  Oberammergau.  In  the  midst  was 
Caiaphas,  the  High-priest,  the  Chief  of  the  Sanhedrim,  the 
burgomaster  of  Ammergau  and  chief  manager  of  the  Passion 
Play.  At  his  right  and  left  sat  the  oldest  members  of  the  com- 
munity of  Ammergau,  an  old  man  with  a  remarkably  fine  face 
and  long  white  beard,  as  Annas,  and  the  sacristan,  an  impres- 
sive figure,  as  Nathanael.  On  both  sides,  in  a  wide  circle, 
were  the  principal  men  in  the  parish  robed  as  priests  and  Phar- 
isees. What  heads !  What  figures !  The  burgomaster,  Caia- 
phas, rose  and,  with  a  brief  address,  opened  the  discussion. 
Poor  Son  of  God,  how  wilt  Thou  fare  in  the  presence  of  this 
mighty  one  of  earth  ?  The  burgomaster  was  the  type  of  the 
fanatical,  ambitious  priest,  not  a  blind,  dull  zealot — nay,  he 
was  the  representative  of  the  aristocratic  hierarchy,  the  distin- 
guished men  of  the  highest  intelligence  and  culture.  A  face 
rigid  as  though  chiselled  from  stone,  yet  animated  by  an  in- 
tellect of  diabolical  superiority,  which  would  never  confess  it- 
self conquered,  which  no  terror  could  intimidate,  no  marvel 
dazzel,  no  suffering  move.  Tall  and  handsome  in  the  very 
flower  of  manhood,  with  eyes  whose  glances  pierced  like  javelins, 
a  tiara  on  his  haughty  head,  robed  in  all  the  pomp  of  Oriental 
priestly  dignity,  every  clanking  ornament  a  symbol  of  his  ar- 
rogant, iron  nature,  every  motion  of  his  delicate  white  hands, 
every  fold  of  his  artistically  draped  mantle,  every  hair  of  his 


76  ON    THE    CROSS. 

flowing  beard  a  proof  of  that  perfect  conscious  mastery  of  out- 
ward ceremonial  peculiar  to  those  who  are  accustomed  to  play 
a  shrewdly  planned  part  before  the  public.  Thus  he  stood, 
terrible  yet  fascinating,  repellent  yet  attractive,  nay  to  the 
trained  eye  of  an  artist  who  could  appreciate  this  masterly 
blending  of  the  most  contradictory  influences,  positively  en- 
thralling. 

This  was  the  effect  produced  upon  Countess  Wildenau. 
The  feeling  of  indignation  roused  by  the  incomprehensible  hu- 
miliation of  the  divine  Martyr  almost  tempted  her  to  side  with 
the  resolute  foe  who  manfully  defended  his  own  honor  with  his 
god's.  A  noble-hearted  woman  cannot  withstand  the  influ- 
ence of  genuine  intellectual  manfulness,  and  until  the  martyr- 
dom of  Christ  became  heroism,  the  firm,  unyielding  high-priest 
exerted  an  irresistible  charm  over  the  countess.  The  conscious 
mastery,  the  genius  of  the  performer,  the  perfection  of  his 
acting,  roused  and  riveted  the  artistic  interest  of  the  cultivated 
woman,  and  as,  with  the  people  of  Ammergau,  the  individual 
and  the  actor  are  not  two  distinct  personages,  as  among  profes- 
sional artists,  she  knew  that  the  man  before  her  also  possessed 
a  lofty  nature,  and  the  nimbus  of  Ammergau  constantly  in- 
creased, the  spirit  ruling  the  whole  obtained  still  greater  sway. 
The  sacristan  was  also  an  imposing  figure  as  Nathanael,  the 
second  high-priest,  who,  with  all  the  power  of  Pharisaical  su- 
periority and  sophistry,  appeared  as  Christ's  accuser.  The 
eloquence  of  these  two  judges  was  overpowered,  and  into  the 
surging  waves  of  passion,  Annas,  in  his  venerable  dignity, 
dropped  with  steady  hand  the  sharp  anchor  of  cold,  pitiless 
resolve.  An  imposing,  sinister  assembly  was  this  great  Sanhe- 
drim, and  every  spectator  involuntarily  felt  the  dread  always 
inspired  by  a  circle  of  stern,  cruel  despots.  Poor  Lamb,  what 
will  be  Thy  fate  ? 

Destiny  pursued  its  course.  In  the  next  act  Christ  an- 
nounced His  approaching  death  to  the  disciples.  Now  it 
seemed  as  though  He  bore  upon  His  brow  an  invisible  helm 
of  victory,  on  which  the  dove  of  the  Holy  Spirit  rested  with 
outspread  wings.  Now  He  was  the  hero — the  hero  who  chose 
death.  Yet  meekness  was  diffused  throughout  His  whole 
bearing,  was  the  impress  of  His  being;  the  meekness  which 
spares  others  but  does  not  tremble  for  itself.  A  new  perception 


THE    PASSION  PLAY.  .  f] 

dawned  upon  the  countess  :  to  be  strong  yet  gentle  was  the 
highest  nobility  of  the  soul — and  as  here  also  the  character 
and  its  personator  were  one,  she  knew  that  the  men  before 
her  possessed  these  attributes  :  strength  and  gentleness.  NQW 
her  defiant  spirit  at  last  melted  and  she  longed  to  take  Him  to 
her  heart  to  atone  for  the  injustice  of  the  human  race.  She 
thanked  Simon  for  receiving  the  condemned  man  under  his 
hospitable  roof. 

"Aye,  love  Him — I,  too,  love  Him  ?"  she  longed  to  cry  out 
to  those  who  were  ministering  to  Him.  But  when  Mary  Mag- 
dalene touched  and  anointed  Him  she  averted  her  eyes,  for  she 
grudged  her  the  privilege  and  thought  of  her  poor,  beautiful 
penitent  at  home.  As  He  uttered  the  words:  "Rise,  Mag- 
dalene. Darkness  is  gathering,  and  the  wintry  storms  are  rag- 
ing. Yet  be  comforted !  In  the  early  morning,  in  the  Spring 
garden,  thou  wilt  see  me  again !"  tears  streamed  form  her 
eyes;  "When  will  the  morning  dawn  that  I  shall  greet  Thee 
— in  the  Spring  garden,  redeeming  love  ?"  asked  a  voice  in 
her  heart. 

But  when  Mary  appeared  and  Christ  took  leave  of  His 
mother — when  the  latter  sank  upon  the  breast  of  her  divine 
son  and  He  consoled  her  with  a  voice  whose  sweetness  no 
ear  had  ever  heard  equalled,  a  feeling  which  she  had  never 
experienced  took  possession  of  her :  it  was  neither  envy  nor 
jealousy — only  a  sorrowful  longing:  If  I  were  only  in  her  place!" 

And  when  Christ  said:  "My  hour  is  come;  now  is  my 
soul  troubled;  and  what  shall  I  say  ?  Father,  save  me  from 
this  hour:  but  for  this  cause  came  I  unto  this  hour!"  and 
Mary,  remembering  Simeon's  words,  cried:  "Simeon,  thy  pre- 
diction— '  a  sword  shall  pierce  through  thy  own  soul,  also ' — is 
now  fulfilled !"  the  countess,  for  the  first  time,  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  pictures  of  Mary  with  the  seven  swords  in  her 
heart;  her  own  was  bleeding  from  the  keenness  of  her  anguish. 
Now,  overpowered  with  emotion,  He  again  extended  His 
arms:  "Mother,  mother,  receive  thy  son's  fervent  gratitude 
for  all  the  love  and  faith  which  thou  hast  bestowed  in  the 
thirty-three  years  of  my  life :  Farewell,  dear  mother !" 

The  countess  felt  as  if  she  would  no  longer  endure  it — that 
she  must  sink  in  a  sea  of  grief  and  yearning. 

"  My  son,  where  shall  I  see  Thee  again  ?"  asked  Mary. 


;3  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"Yonder,  dear  mother,  where  the  words  of  the  Scripture 
shall  be  fulfilled:  '  He  is  brought  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter, 
and  as  a  sheep  before  her  shearers  is  dumb,  so  he  openeth  not 
his  mouth.' "  Then,  while  the  others  were  weeping  over  the 
impending  calamity,  Christ  said:  "Be  not  overcome  in  the 
first  struggle.  Trust  in  me."  And,  as  He  spoke,  the  loving 
soul  knew  that  it  might  rest  on  Him  and  be  secure. 

He  moved  away.  Serene,  noble,  yet  humble,  He  went  to 
meet  His  death. 

The  curtain  fell — but  this  time  there  was  no  exchange  of 
greetings  from  the  boxes,  the  faces  of  their  occupants  were 
covered  to  conceal  the  tears  of  which  they  were  ashamed,  yet 
could  not  restrain. 

The  countess  and  her  companion  remained  silent.  Made- 
leine's forehead  rested  on  her  hand — the  prince  was  secretly 
wiping  his  eyes. 

"  People  of  God,  lo,  thy  Saviour  is  near  !  The  Redeemer, 
long  promised,  hath  come!"  sang  the  chorus,  and  the  curtain 
rising,  showed  Christ  and  his  disciples  on  the  way  to  Jeru- 
salem. It  was  the  moment  that  Christ  wept  over  Jerusalem. 
Tears  of  the  keenest  anguish  which  can  pierce  the  heart  of  a 
God,  tears  for  the  sins  of  the  world!  "Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 
if  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou,  at  least  in  this  thy  day,  the 
things  which  belongs  unto  thy  peace !  But  now  they  are  hid 
from  thine  eyes." 

The  disciples  entreated  their  Master  not  to  enter  the  hos- 
tile city  and  thus  avoid  the  crime  which  it  was  destined  to 
commit.  Or  to  enter  and  show  Himself  in  His  power,  to 
judge  and  to  reward. 

"Children,  what  ye  desire  will  be  done  in  its  time,  but  my 
ways  are  ordered  by  my  Father,  and  thus  saith  the  Lord: 
'  My  thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways 
my  ways.' " 

And,  loyal  and  obedient,  He  followed  the  path  of  death. 
Judas  alone  lingered  behind,  resolving  to  leave  the  fallen 
greatness  which  promised  no  earthly  profit  and  would  bring 
danger  and  disgrace  upon  its  adherents.  In  this  mood  he 
was  met  by  Dathan,  Andreas  Gross,  who  was  seeking  a  tool 
for  the  vengeance  of  the  money  changers.  Finding  it  in  Judas, 
he  took  him  before  the  Sanhedrim. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  79 

An  impressive  and  touching  tableau  now  introduced  a  new 
period,  the  gathering  of  manna  in  the  wilderness,  which  re- 
freshed the  starving  children  of  Israel.  A  second  followed: 
The  colossal  bunch  of  grapes  from  Canaan.  "The  Lord 
miraculously  fed  the  multitude  in  the  desert  with  the  manna 
and  rejoiced  their  hearts  with  the  grapes  of  Canaan,  but  Jesus 
offers  us  a  richer  banquet  from  Heaven.  From  the  mystery 
of  His  body  and  blood  flows  mercy  and  salvation!"  sang  the 
chorus.  The  curtain  rose  again,  Christ  was  at  supper  with 
His  disciples.  He  addressed  them  in  words  of  calm  farewell. 
J-iut  they  did  not  yet  fully  understand,  for  they  asked  who 
would  bejftrs/  in  His  heavenly  kingdom? 

His  only  answer  was  to  lay  aside  His  upper  garment, 
gird,  with  divine  dignity,  a  cloth  about  His  loins,  and  kneel 
to  perform  for  the  disciples  the  humblest  service  —  the  washing 
oj  their  feet. 

The  human  race  looked  on  in  breathless  wonder — viewless 
bands  of  angels  soared  downward  and  the  demons  of  pride 
and  defiance  in  human  nature  fled  and  hid  themselves  in  the 
inmost  recesses  of  their  troubled  hearts. 

Aye,  the  strong  soul  of  the  woman,  which  had  at  first  re- 
belled against  the  patience  of  the  suffering  God — now  under- 
stood it  and  to  her  also  light  came,  as  He  had  promised  and, 
by  the  omnipotent  feeling  which  urged  her  to  the  feet  of  Him 
who  knelt  rendering  the  lowliest  service  to  the  least  of  His 
disciples,  she  perceived  the  divinity  of  humility! 

It  was  over.  He  had  risen  and  put  on  His  upper  gar- 
ment; He  stood  with  His  figure  drawn  up  to  His  full  height 
and  gazed  around  the  circle:  "Now  ye  are  clean,  but  not 
all!" — and  His  glance  rested  mournfully  on  Peter,  who  before 
the  cock  crew,  would  deny  Him  thrice,  and  on  Judas,  who 
would  betray  Him  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver. 

Then  He  again  took  His  seat  and,  as  the  presentiment  of 
approaching  death  transfigures  even  the  most  commonplace 
mortal  and  illumines  the  struggling  soul  at  the  moment  of 
its  separation  from  the  body,  so  the  God  transfigured  the 
earthly  form  of  the  "Son  of  Man"  and  appeared  more  and 
more  plainly  on  the  pallid  face,  ere  he  left  the  frail  husk 
which  He  had  chosen  for  His  transitory  habitation.  And  as 
the  dying  man  distributes  his  property  among  his  heirs,  He 


8o  ON   THE   CROSS. 

bequeathed  His.  But  He  had  nothing  to  give,  save  Him- 
self. As  the  cloud  dissolves  into  millions  of  raindrops  which 
the  thirsting  earth  drinks,  He  divided  Himself  into  millions 
of  atoms  which,  in  the  course  of  the  ages,  were  to  refresh 
millions  of  human  beings  with  the  banquet  of  love.  His 
body  and  His  blood  were  his  legacy.  He  divided  it  into 
countless  portions,  to  distribute  it  among  countless  heirs,  yet 
it  remained  one  and  the  part  is  to  every  one  the  whole. 
For  as  an  element  remains  a  great  unity,  no  matter  into 
how  many  atoms  it  may  dissolve — as  water  is  always  water 
whether  in  single  drops  or  in  the  ocean — fire  always  fire  in 
sparks  or  a  conflagration — so  Christ  is  always  Christ  in  the 
drops  of  the  chalice  and  the  particles  of  the  bread,  as  well 
as  in  His  original  person,  for  He,  too,  is  an  element,  the  element 
of  divinity. 

As  kindred  kneel  around  the  bedside  of  a  loved  one  who 
is  dying,  bedew  his  hand  with  tears,  and  utter  the  last  en- 
treaty :  "  Forgive  us,  if  we  have  ever  wounded  you  ?"  the 
thousands  of  spectators  longed  to  kneel,  and  there  was  not 
one  who  did  not  yearn  to  press  his  lips  to  the  wonderful  hand 
which  was  distributing  the  bread,  and  cry:  "Forgive  us  our 
sins."  But  as  reverence  for  the  dying  restrains  loud  lamen- 
tations, the  spectators  controlled  themselves  in  order  not  to 
sob  aloud  and  thus  disturb  the  divine  peace  throned  upon  the 
Conqueror's  brow. 

Destiny  now  relentlessly  pursued  its  course.  Judas  sold 
his  master  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver,  and  they  were  paid  to 
him  before  the  Sanhedrim.  The  pieces  of  silver  rang  on 
the  stone  table  upon  which  they  were  counted  out.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  clear  sound  was  sharply  piercing  the  world, 
like  the  edge  of  a  scythe  destined  to  mow  down  the  holiest 
things. 

The  priests  exulted,  there  was  joy  in  the  camp  of  the 
foes!  All  that  human  arrogance  and  self-conceit  could  ac- 
complish, raised  its  head  triumphantly  in  Caiaphas.  The 
regal  priest  stood  so  firmly  upon  the  height  of  his  secular 
power  that  nothing  could  overthrow  him,  and — Jesus  of 
Nazareth  must  die! 

So  the  evening  came  when  Christ  went  with  the  twelve 
disciples  to  the  Mount  of  Olives  to  await  His  doom. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  8l 

"Father,  the  fiour  is  come;  glorify  thy  Son,  that  thy  Son 
may  also  glorify  thee!  I  have  finished  the  work  which  thou 
gavest  me  to  do — I  have  manifested  thy  name  unto  men! 
Father,  sanctify  them  through  thy  truth ;  that  they  all  may  be 
one,  as  thou,  Father,  art  in  me  and  I  in  thee!" 

He  climbed  the  lonely  mount  in  the  garden  of  olive  trees 
to  pass  through  the  last  agony,  the  agony  of  death,  which 
seized  upon  even  the  Son  of  God  so  long  as  He  was  still 
bound  by  the  laws  of  the  human  body. 

"Father,  if  thou  be  willing,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me!" 

Here  Freyer's  acting  reached  its  height;  it  was  no  longer 
semblance,  but  reality.  The  sweat  fell  in  burning  drops  from 
his  brow,  and  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  "  Yet  not  my  will, 
but  Thine  be  done — Thy  sacred  will!"  Clasping  his  trembling 
hands,  he  flung  himself  prone  on  the  ground,  hiding  his  tear- 
stained  face.  "Father — Thy  son — hear  Him!" 

The  throng  breathed  more  and  more  heavily,  the  tears 
flowed  faster.  The  heart  of  all  humanity  was  touched  with 
the  anguished  cry :  "  Oh,  sins  of  humanity,  ye  crush  me — oh, 
the  terrible  burden — the  bitter  cup!" 

With  this  anguish  the  Son  of  God  first  drew  near  to  the 
human  race,  in  this  suffering  He  first  bent  down  to  mortals 
that  they  might  embrace  Him  lovingly  like  a  mortal  brother. 
And  it  was  so  at  this  moment,  also  !  They  would  fain  have 
dragged  Him  from  the  threatening  cross,  defended  Him  with 
their  own  bodies,  purchased  his  release  at  any  cost — too  late, 
this  repentance  should  have  come  several  centuries  earlier. 

The  hour  of  temptation  was  over.  The  disciples  had 
slept  and  left  him  alone — but  the  angel  of  the  Lord  had  com- 
forted Him,  the  angel  whom  God  sends  to  every  one  who  is 
deserted  by  men.  He  was  himself  again — the  Conqueror  of 
the  World! 

Judas  came  with  the  officers  and  pressed  upon  the  sweet 
mouth  on  which  the  world  would  fain  hang  in  blissful  self- 
forgetfulness — the  traitor's  kiss. 

"Judas,  can  you  touch  those  lips  and  not  fall  at  the  feet 
of  Him  you  have  betrayed  ?"  cried  a  voice  in  Madeleine  von 
Wildenau's  heart.  "  Can  you  kiss  the  lips  which  so  patiently 
endure  the  death-dealing  caress,  and  not  find  your  hate  trans- 

6 


82  ON   THE    CROSS. 

formed  to  love?  Ah,  only  the  divine  can  recognize  the  divine, 
only  sympathetic  natures  attract  one  another!  Judas  is  the 
symbol  of  the  godless  world,  which  would  no  longer  perceive 
God's  presence,  even  if  He  came  on  earth  once  more.  The 
soldiers,  brawny  fellows,  fell  to  the  ground  as  He  stood  before 
them  with  the  words:  "I  am  Jesus  of  Nazareth!"  and  He 
was  forced  to  say:  "Rise!  Fear  ye  not!"  that  they  might 
accomplish  their  work — but  Judas  remained  unmoved  and 
delivered  Him  up. 

Christ  was  a  prisoner  and  descended  step  by  step  into 
the  deepest  ignominy.  But  no  matter  through  what  mire 
of  baseness  and  brutality  they  dragged  Him,  haling  Him 
from  trial  to  trial — nothing  robbed  Him  of  the  majesty  of 
the  Redeemer!  And  if  His  speech  had  been  full  of  power,  so 
was  His  silence!  Before  the  Sanhedrim,  before  Herod,  and 
finally  before  Pilate,  He  was  the  king,  and  the  mighty  ones  of 
earth  were  insignificant  in  His  presence. 

"Who  knows  whether  this  man  is  not  the  son  of  some 
god?"  murmured  the  polytheistic  Romans — and  shrank  from 
the  mystery  which  surrounded  the  silent  One. 

The  impression  here  was  produced  solely  by  Freyer's  im- 
posing calmness  and  unearthly  eyes.  The  glance  he  cast  at 
Herod  when  the  latter  ordered  him  to  perform  a  miracle — 
darken  the  judgment  chamber  or  transform  a  roll  of  papyrus 
into  a  serpent — that  one  glance,  full  of  dignity  and  gentleness, 
fixed  upon  the  poor,  short-sighted  child  of  the  dust  was  a 
greater  miracle  than  all  the  conjuring  tricks  of  the  Egyptian 
Magicians. 

But  this  very  silence,  this  superiority,  filled  the  priest  with 
furious  rage  and  hastened  His  doom,  which  He  disdained  to 
stay  by  a  single  word. 

True,  Pilate  strove  to  save  Him.  The  humane  Roman, 
with  his  aristocratic  bearing,  as  Thomas  Rendner  personated 
him  with  masterly  skill,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
gloomy,  fanatical  priests,  but  he  was  not  the  man  for  violent 
measures,  and  the  furious  leaders  understood  how  to  present 
this  alternative.  The  drsire  to  conciliate,  the  refuge  of  all 
weak  souls  which  shrink  in  terror  from  catastrophes,  had  already 
wrested  from  him  a  shameful  concession — he  had  suffered  the 
Innocent  One  to  be  delivered  to  the  scourge. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  8j 

With  clendied  teeth  the  spectators  beheld  the  chaste  form, 
bound  to  the  stake  and  stained  with  blood,  quiver  beneath  the 
lashes  of  the  executioner,  without  a  murmur  of  complaint  from 
the  silent  lips.  And  when  He  had  "had  enough,"  as  they 
phrased  it,  they  placed  him  on  a  chair,  threw  a  royal  mantle 
about  Him,  and  placed  a  sceptre  of  reeds  in  the  hand  of  the 
mock  king.  But  He  remained  mute.  The  tormentors  grew 
more  and  more  enraged — they  wanted  to  have  satisfaction,  to 
gloat  over  the  moans  of  the  victim — they  dealt  Him  a  blow  in 
the  face,  then  a  second  one.  Christ  did  not  move.  They 
thrust  Him  from  the  chair  so  that  He  fell  on  the  ground — no 
one  ever  forgot  the  beautiful,  pathetic  figure — but  He  was 
still  silent!  Then  one  of  the  executioners  brought  a  crown 
made  of  huge  thorns;  He  was  raised  again  and  the  martyr's 
diadem  was  placed  upon  His  brow.  The  sharp  thorns  resisted, 
they  would  not  fit  the  noble  head,  so  His  tormentors  took  two 
sticks,  laid  cross-ways,  and  with  them  forced  the  spiked  coro- 
nals so  low  on  His  forehead  that  drops  of  blood  flowed!  Christ 
quivered  under  the  keen  agony — but — He  was  silent!  Then 
He  was  dragged  out  of  His  blood,  a  spectacle  to  the  populace. 

Again  Helios  above  gave  the  rein  to  his  radiant  coursers 
— he  thought  of  all  the  horrors  in  the  history  of  his  divine 
House,  of  the  Danaides,  of  the  chained  Prometheus,  and  of 
others  also,  but  he  could  recall  nothing  comparable  to  this, 
and  loathed  the  human  rate!  Averting  his  face,  he  guided  his 
weary  steeds  slowly  downward  from  the  zenith. 

The  evening  breeze  blew  chill  upon  the  scene  of  agony. 

A  furious  tumult  filled  the  streets  of  Jerusalem.  The 
priests  were  leading  the  raging  mob  to  the  governor's  house — 
fanning  their  wrath  to  flame  with  word  and  gesture.  Caiaphas, 
Nathanael,  the  fanatics  of  Judaism — Annas  and  Ezekiel,  each 
at  the  head  of  a  mob,  rushed  from  three  streets  in  an  over- 
whelming concourse.  The  populace  surged  like  the  angry  sea, 
and  unchaining  yet  dominating  the  elements  with  word  and 
glance  the  lofty  figure  of  Caiaphas,  the  high  priest,  towered 
in  their  midst. 

"Shake  it  off!  Cast  from  you  the  yoke  of  the  tempter!" 

"  He  has  scorned  Moses  and  the  prophets — He  has  blas- 
phemed God — to  the  cross  with  the  false  Messiah!" 

"May  a  curse  rest  on  every  one  who  does  not  vote  for  his 


84  ON    THE    CROSS. 

death — let  him  be  cut  off  from  the  hereditary  rights  of  our 
fathers  !" 

Thus  the  four  leaders  cast  their  watchword  like  firebrands 
among  the  throngs,  and  the  blaze  spread  tumultuously. 

"The  Nazarene  must  die — we  demand  judgment,"  roared 
the  people.  New  bands  constantly  flocked  in.  "  Oh,  fairest 
day  of  Israel!  Children,  be  resolute!  Threaten  a  general  in- 
surrection. The  governor  wished  to  hear  the  voice  of  the 
people — let  him  hear  it !"  shrieked  Caiaphas,  and  his  passion 
stirred  the  mob  to  fiercer  fury.  All  pressed  forward  to  the 
house  of  Pilate.  The  doors  opened  and  the  governor  came 
out.  The  handsome,  classic  countenance  of  the  Roman  ex- 
pressed deep  contempt,  as  he  surveyed  the  frantic  mob,  Be- 
hind him  appeared  the  embodiment  of  sorrow — the  picture  of 
all  pictures — the  Ecce  Homo — which  all  the  artists  of  the 
world  have  striven  to  represent,  yet  never  exhausted  the  sub- 
ject. Here  it  stood  personified — before  the  eyes  of  men,  and 
even  the  governor's  voice  trembled  as  he  pointed  to  it. 

"  Behold,  what  a  man  !" 

"  Crucify  him !"  was  the  answer. 

Pilate  endeavored  to  give  the  fury  of  the  mob  another 
victim:  the  criminal  Barabbas  was  brought  forth  and  con- 
fronted with  Christ.  The  basest  of  human  beings  and  the 
noblest !  But  the  spectacle  did  not  move  them,  for  the  pa- 
tience and  serenity  of  the  Martyr  expressed  a  grandeur  which 
shamed  them  all,  and  this  was  the  intolerable  offense !  The  sight 
of  the  scourged,  bleeding  body  did  not  cool  their  vengeance 
because  they  saw  that  the  spirit  was  unbroken !  It  must  be 
quelled,  that  it  might  not  rise  in  judgment  against  them,  for 
they  had  gone  too  far,  the  ill-treated  victim  was  a  reproach  to 
them — he  could  not  be  suffered  to  live  longer. 

"  Release  Barabbas !  To  death  with  the  Nazarene,  crucify 
him !" 

Vainly  the  governor  strove  to  persuade  the  people.  The 
cool,  circumspect  man  was  too  weak  to  defy  these  powers  of 
hatred — he  would  fain  save  Christ,  yet  was  unwilling  to  drive 
the  fanatics  to  extremes.  So  he  yielded,  but  the  grief  with 
which  he  did  so,  "  to  avert  a  greater  misfortune,"  absolved  him 
from  the  terrible  guilt  whose  curse  he  cast  upon  the  leaders' 
head. 


»  THE    PASSION  PLAY.  85 

The  expression  with  which  he  pronounced  the  sentence, 
uttered  the  words :  "  Then  take  ye  Him  and  crucify  Him !" 
voices  the  grief  of  the  man  of  culture  for  eternal  beauty. 

The  bloodthirsty  mob  burst  into  a  yell  of  exultation  when 
their  victim  was  delivered  to  them — now  they  could  cool  their 
vengeance  on  Him !  "  To  Golgotha — hence  with  him  to  the 
place  of  skulls !" 

Christ — and  Thy  sacrifice  is  for  these.  Alas,  the  day  will 
come,  though  perchance  not  for  thousands  of  years,  when 
Thou  wilt  perceive  that  they  were  not  worthy  of  it.  But  that 
will  be  the  day  of  judgment! 

A  crowd  surged  through  the  streets  of  Jerusalem — in  their 
midst  the  condemned  man,  burdened  with  the  instrument  of 
his  own  martyrdom. 

In  one  corner  amid  the  populace  stood  Mary,  surrounded 
by  a  group  of  friends,  and  the  mother  beheld  her  son  urged 
forward,  like  a  beast  which,  when  it  falls,  is  forced  up  with 
lashes  and  pressed  on  till  it  sinks  lifeless. 

High  above  in  the  vaulted  heavens,  veiled  by  the  gather- 
ing dusk  of  evening,  the  gods  whispered  to  one  another  with 
secret  horror  as  they  watched  the  unprecedented  sight.  Often 
as  they  might  behold  it,  they  could  never  believe  it. 

The  procession  stopped  before  a  house — Christ  sank  to  the 
earth. 

A  man  came  out  and  thrust  Him  from  the  threshold. 

"  Hence,  there  is  no  place  here  for  you  to  rest." 

Ahasuerus  !  The  tortured  sufferer  looked  at  him  with  the 
gaze  of  a  dying  deer — a  single  mute  glance  of  agony,  but  the 
man  on  whom  it  fell  nevermore  found  peace  on  earth,  but 
was  driven  from  every  resting-place,  from  land  to  land,  from 
one  spot  to  another — hunted  on  ceaselessly  through  the  cen- 
turies— wandering  forever. 

"  He  will  die  on  the  road  " — cried  the  first  executioner. 
Christ  had  dragged  Himself  a  few  steps  forward,  and  fell  for 
the  second  time. 

"  Drive  him  on  with  blows !"  shrieked  the  Pharisees  and 
the  people. 

"  Oh !  where  is  the  sorrow  like  unto  my  sorrow  ?"  moaned 
Mary,  covering  her  face. 

"  He  is  too  weak,  some  one  must  help  him,"  said  the  exe- 


85  ON   THE    CROSS. 

cutioner.  He  could  not  be  permitted  to  die  there — the 
people  must  see  Him  on  the  pillory. 

His  face  was  covered  with  sweat  and  blood — tears  flowed 
from  His  eyes,  but  the  mute  lips  uttered  no  word  of  com- 
plaint. Then  His  friends  ventured  to  go  and  render  whatever 
aid  was  permitted.  Veronica  offered  Him  her  handkerchief 
to  wipe  His  face,  and  when  He  returned  it,  it  bore  in  lines  of 
sweat  and  blood,  the  portrait  which,  throughout  the  ages,  has 
exerted  the  silent  magic  of  suffering  in  legend  and  in  art. 

Simon  of  Cyrene  took  the  cross  from  the  sinking  form  to 
bear  it  for  Him  to  Golgotha,  and  the  women  of  Jerusalem 
wept.  Christ  was  standing  by  the  roadside  exhausted,  but 
when  He  saw  the  women  with  their  children,  the  last  words 
of  sorrow  for  their  lost  ones  rose  from  His  heart  to  His  lips: 

"Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me,  but  weep  for 
yourselves,  and  your  children." 

"  For,  behold,  the  days  are  coming,  in  the  which  they  shall 
say :  Blessed  are  the  barren,  and  the  wombs  that  never  bare, 
and  the  paps  which  never  gave  suck !" 

"  Then  shall  they  begin  to  say  to  the  mountains,  Fall  on  us  ; 
and  to  the  hills,  Cover  us." 

"  For  if  they  do  these  things  in  a  green  tree,  what  shall  be 
done  in  the  dry  ?  " 

"Drive  the  women  away!  Spare  him  no  longer — hence 
to  the  place  of  execution!"  the  priests  commanded. 

"To  Golgotha — Crucify  him!"  roared  the  people.  The 
women  were  driven  away;  another  message  from  the  gov- 
ernor was  unheeded,  the  procession  moved  steadily  on  to 
death. 

But  Mary  did  not  leave  Him.  With  the  few  faithful 
friends  she  joined  her  son's  march  of  suffering,  for  the  stead- 
fastness of  maternal  love  was  as  great  as  her  anguish. 

There  was  a  whispering  and  a  murmuring  in  the  air  as  if  the 
Valkyries  and  the  gods  of  Greece  were  consulting  whether 
they  should  aid  the  Son  of  Man.  But  they  were  powerless; 
the  sphere  of  the  Christian's  god  was  closed  against  them. 

The  scene  changed.  The  chorus,  robed  in  sable  mourning 
cloaks,  appeared  and  began  the  dirge  for  the  dying  God. 
The  simple  chant  recalled  an  ancient  Anglo-Saxon  song  of 
the  cross,  composed  in  the  seventh  century  by  the  skald 


THE    PASSIOX    PLAY.  87 

i 

Caedmon,  and  which  for  more  than   a   thousand   years   lay 
buried  in  the  mysterious  spell  of  the  rune. 

*Methought  I  saw  a  Tree  in  mid-air  hang 
Of  trees  the  brightest — mantling  o'er  with  light-streaks ; 
A  beacon  stood  it,  glittering  with  gold. 

All  the  angels  beheld  it, 

Angel  hosts  in  beauty  created. 

Yet  stood  it  not  a  pillory  of  shame. 

Thither  turned  the  gaze 

Of  spirits  blessed, 

And  of  earthly  pilgrims 

Of  noblest  nature. 

This  tree  of  victory 

Saw  I,  the  sin-laden  one. 

Yet  'mid  the  golden  glitter 
Were  traces  of  horror. 
Adown  the  right  side 
Red  drops  were  trickling. 
Startled  and  shuddering 
Noted  I  the  hovering  vision 
Suddenly  change  its  hue. 

Long  lay  I  pondering 

Gazing  full  sadly 

At  the  Saviour's  Rood. 

When  lo,  on  my  ear 

Fell  the  murmur  of  speech ; 

These  are  the  words 

The  forest  uttered : 

"  Many  a  year  ago, 
Yet  still  my  mind  holds  it, 
Low  was  I  felled. 
The  dim  forest  within 
Hacked  from  my  roots, 
Haled  on  by  rude  woodmen 
Bracing  sinewy  shoulders 
Up  the  steep  mountain  side, 
Till  aloft  on  the  summit 
Firmly  they  fastened  me. 

*  Part  of  these  lines  of  Caaidmon  were  put  into  modern  English  by  Robert 
Spence  Watson. 


88  ON   THE    CROSS. 


"  I  spied  the  Frey*  of  man  with  eager  haste 
Approach  to  mount  me  ;  neither  bend  nor  break 
I  durst,  for  so  it  was  decreed  above 
Though  earth  about  me  shook. 

"  Up-girded  him  then  the  young  hero, 
That  was  God  Almighty, 
Strong  and  steady  of  mood, 
Stept  he  on  the  high  gallows : 
Fearless  amongst  many  beholders 
For  he  would  save  mankind. 
Trembled  I  when  that  '  beorn '  climbed  me. 
But  I  durst  not  bow  to  earth." 

There  hung  the  Lord  of  Hosts 
Swart  clouds  veiled  the  corpse, 
The  sun's  light  vanished 
'Neath  shadows  murk. 
While  in  silence  drear 
All  creation  wept 
The  fall  of  their  king. 
Christ  was  on  Rood — 
Thither  from  afar 
Men  came  hastening 
To  aid  the  noble  one. 

Everything  I  saw, 

Sorely  was  I 

With  sorrows  harrowed, 

Yet  humbly  I  inclined 

To  the  hands  of  his  servants 

Striving  much  to  aid  them. 

Now  from  the  Rood 

The  mighty  God, 

Spear-pierced  and  blood-besprent, 

Gently  men  lowered  ; 

They  laid  him  down  limb-weary, 

They  stood  at  the  lifeless  head, 

Gazing  at  Heaven's  Lord, 

And  he  there  rests  awhile, 

Weary  after  his  mickle  death-fight. 


*  Frey  is  the  god  of  peace.  When  its  Mythological  significance  was  lost,  it 
became  an  epithet  of  honor  for  princes  and  is  found  frequently  applied  to  our 
Lord  and  God  the  Father. 


THE   PASSION   PLAY.  ~.  89 

Such  was  the  paean  of  Caedmon,  mighty  among  the  writers 
of  runes,  in  the  seventh  century  after  the  Saviour's  death. 
Now,  twelve  centuries  later,  it  lived  again,  and  the  terrible 
event  was  once  more  enacted,  just  as  the  skald  had  sung,  just 
as  it  happened  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago. 

What  is  space,  what  is  time  to  aught  that  is  rooted  in 
love? 

The  dirge  of  the  chorus  had  died  away.  A  strange  sound 
behind  the  curtain  accompanied  the  last  verses — the  sound  of 
hammering — could  it  be?  No,  it  would  be  too  horrible.  The 
audience  heard,  yet  would  not  hear.  A  deathlike  stillness  per- 
vaded the  theatre — the  blows  of  the  hammer  became  more  and 
more  distinct — the  curtain  rolled  upward — there  He  lay  with 
His  feet  toward  the  spectators,  flat  upon  the  cross.  And  the 
executioners,  with  heavy  blows,  drove  nails  through  His  limbs ; 
they  pierced  the  kind  hands  which  had  never  done  harm  to 
any  living  creature,  but  wherever  they  were  gently  laid,  healed 
all  wounds  and  stilled  all  griefs ;  the  feet  which  had  borne  the 
divine  form  so  lightly  that  it  seemed  to  float  over  the  burning 
sand  of  the  land  and  the  surging  waves  of  the  sea,  always  on 
a  mission  of  love.  Now  He  lay  in  suffering  on  the  ground, 
stretched  upon  the  accursed  timbers — half  benumbed,  like  a 
stricken  stag.  At  the  right  and  left  stood  the  lower  crosses  of 
the  two  criminals.  These  men  merely  had  their  arms  thrown 
over  the  cross-beams  and  tied  with  ropes,  only  the  feet  were 
fastened  with  nails.  Christ  alone  was  nailed  by  both  hands 
and  feet,  because  the  Pharisees  were  tortured  by  a  foreboding 
that  He  could  not  be  wholly  killed.  Had  they  dared,  they 
would  have  torn  Him  to  pieces,  and  scattered  the  fragments 
to  the  four  winds,  in  order  to  be  sure  that  He  would  not  rise 
on  the  third  day,  as  He  had  predicted. 

The  executioners  had  completed  the  binding  of  the  thieves. 
"  Now  the  King  of  the  Jews  must  be  raised." 

"  Lift  the  cross !  Take  hold !"  the  captain  commanded. 
The  spectators  held  their  breath,  every  heart  stood  still !  The 
four  executioners  grasped  it  with  their  brawny  arms,  "  Up ! 
Don't  let  go !" 

The  cross  is  ponderous,  the  men  pant,  bracing  their  shoul- 
ders against  it — their  veins  swell — another  jerk — it  sways — 
"Hold  firm!  Once  more — put  forth  your  strength!"  and  in  a 


90  ON    THE    CROSS. 

wide  sweep  it  moved  upward — all  cowered  back  shuddering 
at  the  horrible  spectacle. 

"It  is  not,  it  cannot  be!"  Yet  it  is,  it  can  be!  Horror 
thrilled  the  spectators,  their  limbs  trembled.  One  grasped 
another,  as  if  to  hold  themselves  from  falling.  It  was  rising, 
the  cross  was  rising  above  the  world !  Higher — nearer !  "  Brace 
against  it — don't  let  go!" 

It  stood  erect  and  was  firm. 

There  hung  the  divine  figure  of  sorrow,  pallid  and  wan. 
The  nails  were  driven  through  the  bleeding  hands  and  feet — 
and  the  eye  which  would  fain  deny  was  forced  to  witness  it, 
the  heart  that  would  have  prevented,  was  compelled  to  bear 
it.  But  the  scene  could  be  endured  no  longer,  the  grief  re- 
strained with  so  much  difficulty  found  vent  in  loud  sobs,  and 
the  hands  trembling  with  a  feverish  chill  were  clasped  with  the 
same  feeling  of  adoring  love.  Unspeakable  compassion  was 
poured  forth  in  ceaseless  floods  of  tears,  and  rose  gathering  in 
a  cloud  of  pensive  melancholy  around  the  head  of  the  Cruci- 
fied One  to  soothe  His  mortal  anguish.  By  degrees  their  eyes 
became  accustomed  to  the  scene  and  gained  strength  to  gaze  at 
it.  Divine  grace  pervaded  the  slender  body,  and — as  eternal 
beauty  reconciles  Heaven  and  hell  and  transfigures  the  most 
terrible  things — horror  gradually  merged  into  devout  admira- 
tion of  the  perfect  human  beauty  revealed  in  chaste  repose 
and  majesty  before  their  delighted  gaze.  The  countess  had 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  breast.  The  world  lay  beneath 
her  as  if  she  was  floating  above  with  Him  on  the  cross.  She 
no  longer  knew  whether  he  was  a  man  or  Christ  Himself — 
she  only  knew  that  the  universe  contained  nothing  save  that 
form. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  superhuman  vision,  tear 
after  tear  trickled  down  her  cheeks.  The  prince  gazed  anx- 
iously at  her,  but  she  did  not  notice  it — she  was  entranced. 
If  she  could  but  die  now — die  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  let  her 
soul  exhale  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  upward  to  Him. 

Darkness  was  gathering.  The  murmuring  and  whispering 
in  the  air  drew  nearer — was  it  the  Valkyries,  gathering  mourn- 
fully around  the  hero  who  scorned  the  aid.  Was  it  the  wings 
of  the  angel  of  death  ?  Or  was  it  a  flock  of  the  sacred  birds 
which,  legend  relates,  strove  to  draw  out  the  nails  that  fastened 


THE   PASSION   PLAY.  9! 

the  Saviour  to  thte  cross  until  their  weak  bills  were  crooked 
and  they  received  the  name  of  "cross- bills." 

The  sufferer  above  was  calm  and  silent.  Only  His  lambent 
eyes  spoke,  spoke  to  those  invisible  powers  hovering  around 
Him  in  the  final  hour. 

Beneath  His  cross  the  soldiers  were  casting  lots  for  His 
garments — the  priests  were  exulting — the  brute  cynicism  was 
watching  with  wolfish  greed  for  the  victim  to  fall  into  its 
clutches,  while  shouting  with  jeering  mocking:  If  thou  be  the 
Son  of  God,  come  down  from  the  cross ! 

He  trusted  in  God;  let  Him  deliver  Him  now,  if  He  will 
have  Him! — 

"Thou  that  destroyest  the  temple  and  buildest  it  in  three 
days,  save  thyself.  Show  thy  power,  proud  King  of  the 
Jews!" 

The  tortured  sufferer  painfully  turned  His  head. 

"  Father,  forgive  them ;  for  they  know  not  what  they  do. — " 

Then  one  of  the  malefactors,  even  in  his  own  death  agony, 
almost  mocked  Him,  but  the  other  rebuked  him;  "We  receive 
the  due  reward  of  our  deeds:  but  this  man  hath  done  nothing 
amiss!"  Then  he  added  beseechingly :  "Lord,  remember  me 
when  Thou  comest  into  Thy  kingdom." 

Christ  made  the  noble  answer:  "Verily  I  say  unto  thee, 
to-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  paradise." 

There  was  a  fresh  roar  of  mockery  from  the  Pharisees. 
"  He  cannot  save  himself,  yet  promises  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
to  others  " 

But  the  Saviour  no  longer  heard,  His  senses  were  failing; 
He  bent  His  head  toward  Mary  and  John.  "Woman,  behold 
thy  son!  Son,  behold  thy  mother!" 

The  signs  of  approaching  death  appeared.  He  grew  rest- 
less— struggled  for  breath,  His  tongue  clung  to  His  palate. 

"I  thirst." 

The  sponge  dipped  in  vinegar  was  handed  to  him  on  a 
long  spear. 

He  sipped  but  was  not  refreshed.  The  agony  had  reached 
its  climax :  "  Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani  ?"  He  cried  from 
the  depths  of  His  breaking  heart,  a  wonderful  waving  motion 
ran  through  the  noble  form  in  the  last  throes  of  death.  Then, 
with  a  long  sigh,  He  murmured  in  the  tones  of  an  ^olian  harp: 


92  ON  THE   CROSS. 

"  It  is  finished!  Father,  into  Thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit ! " 
gently  bowed  his  head  and  expired. 

A  crashing  reverberation  shook  the  earth.  Helios'  chariot 
rolled  thundering  into  the  sea.  The  gods  fled,  overwhelmed 
and  scattered  by  the  hurrying  hosts  of  heaven.  Dust  whirled 
upward  from  the  ground  and  smoke  from  the  chasms,  darken- 
ing the  air.  The  graves  opened  and  sent  forth  their  inmates. 
In  the  mighty  anguish  of  love,  the  Father  rends  the  earth  as 
He  snatches  from  it  the  victim  He  has  too  long  left  to  piti- 
less torture!  The  false  temple  was  shattered,  the  veil  rent — 
and  amid  the  flames  of  Heaven  the  Father's  heart  goes  forth 
to  meet  the  maltreated,  patient,  obedient  Son. 

"Come,  thou  poor  martyr!"  echoed  yearningly  through 
the  heavens.  "Come,  thou  poor  martyr!"  repeated  every 
spectator  below. 

Yet  they  were  still  compelled  to  see  the  beloved  body 
pierced  with  a  sharp  lance  till  the  hot  blood  gushed  forth — 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  thrust  entered  the  heart  of  the  entire 
world!  They  were  still  forced  to  hear  the  howling  of  the 
wolves  disputing  over  the  sacred  corpse — but  at  last  the  tor- 
tured soul  was  permitted  to  rest. 

The  governor's  hand  had  protected  the  lifeless  body  and 
delivered  it  to  His  followers. 

The  multitude  dispersed,  awe-stricken  by  the  terrible 
portents — the  priests,  pale  with  terror,  fled  to  their  shattered 
temple.  Golgotha  became  empty.  The  jeers  and  reviling 
had  died  away,  the  tumult  in  nature  had  subsided — and  the 
sacred  stillness  of  evening  brooded  over  those  who  remained. 
"  He  has  fulfilled  His  task — He  has  entered  into  the  rest  of  the 
Father."  The  drops  of  blood  fell  noiselessly  from  the  Re- 
deemer's heart  upon  the  sand.  Nothing  was  heard  save  the 
low  sobbing  of  the  women  at  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

Then  pitying  love  approached,  and  never  has  a  paean  of 
loyalty  been  sung  like  that  which  the  next  hour  brought.  The 
first  blades  were  now  appearing  of  that  love  whose  seed  has 
spread  throughout  the  world ! 

Joseph  of  Arimathea  and  Nicodemus  came  with  ladders 
and  tools  to  take  down  the  body. 

Ascending,  they  wound  about  the  lifeless  form  long  bands 
of  white  linen,  whose  ends  they  flung  down  from  the  cross. 


THE    PASSION    PLAY.  93 

These  were  grasped  by  the  friends  below  as  a  counterpoise  to 
lower  it  gently  down.  Joseph  and  Nicodemus  now  began  to 
draw  out  the  nails  with  pincers;  the  cracking  and  splintering 
of  the  wood  was  heard,  so  firm  was  the  iron. 

Mary  sat  on  a  stone,  waiting  resignedly,  with  clasped 
hands,  for  her  son.  "  Noble  men,  bring  me  my  child's  body 
soon!"  she  pleaded  softly. 

The  women  spread  a  winding  sheet  at  her  feet  to  receive  it. 

At  last  the  nails  were  drawn  out  and — 

' '  Now  from  the  rood 
The  mighty  God 
Men  gently  lowered." 

Cautiously  one  friend  laid  the  loosened,  rigid  arms  of  the 
dead  form  upon  the  other's  shoulders,  that  they  might  not  fall 
suddenly,  Joseph  of  Arimathea  clasped  the  body :  "  Sweet, 
sacred  burden,  rest  upon  my  shoulders." 

He  descended  the  ladder  with  it.  Half  carried,  half 
lowered  in  the  bands,  the  lifeless  figure  slides  to  the  foot  of 
the  instrument  of  martyrdom. 

Nicodemus  extended  his  arms  to  him :  "  Come,  sacred 
corpse  of  my  only  friend,  let  me  receive  you." 

They  bore  Him  to  Mary — 

*'  They  laid  Him  down  limb-weary 
They  stood  at  the  lifeless  head," 

that  the  son  might  rest  once  more  in  the  mother's  lap. 

She  clasped  in  her  arms  the  wounded  body  of  the  son 
born  in  anguish  the  second  time. 

Magdalene  knelt  beside  it.  "  Let  me  kiss  once  more  the 
hand  which  has  so  often  blessed  me."  And  with  chaste  fervor 
the  Penitent's  lips  touched  the  cold,  pierced  hand  of  the  corpse. 

Another  woman  flung  herself  upon  Him.  "  Dearest  Mas- 
ter, one  more  tear  upon  Thy  lifeless  body !"  And  the  sob- 
bing whisper  of  love  sounded  sweet  and  soothing  like  vesper- 
bells  after  a  furious  storm. 

But  the  men  stood  devoutly  silent : 

"Gazing  at  Heaven's  Lord, 
And  He  there  rests  awhile 
Weary  after  his  mickle  death-fight." 


94  ON   THE    CROSS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 


FREYER. 

THE  Play  was  over.  "  Christ  is  risen !"  He  had  burst  the 
sepulchre  and  hurled  the  guards  in  the  dust  by  the  sight  oi 
His  radiant  apparition.  He  had  appeared  to  the  Penitent  as 
a  simple  gardener  "early  in  the  morning,"  as  He  had  prom- 
ised, and  at  last  had  been  transfigured  and  had  risen  above 
the  worlJ,  bearing  in  His  hand  the  standard  of  victory. 

The  flood  of  human  beings  poured  out  of  the  close  theatre 
into  the  open  air.  Not  loudly  and  noisily,  as  they  had  come — 
no,  reverently  and  gravely,  as  a  funeral  train  disperses  after  the 
obsequies  of  some  noble  man ;  noiselessly  as  the  ebbing  tide 
recedes  after  flood  raised  by  a  storm.  These  were  the  same 
people,  yet  they  returned  in  a  far  different  mood. 

The  same  vehicles  in  which  yesterday  the  travelers  had 
arrived  in  so  noisy  a  fashion,  now  bore  them  away,  but  neither 
shouts  nor  cracking  of  whips  was  heard — the  drivers  knew 
that  they  must  behave  as  if  their  carriages  were  filled  with 
wounded  men. 

And  this  was  true.  There  was  scarcely  one  who  did  not 
suffer  as  if  the  spear  which  had  pierced  the  Saviour's  heart  had 
entered  his  own,  who  did  not  feel  the  wounds  of  the  Crucified 
One  in  his  own  hands  and  feet !  The  grief  which  the  people 
took  with  them  was  grand  and  godlike,  and  they  treasured  it 
carefully,  they  did  not  desire  to  lose  any  portion  of  it,  for — we 
love  the  grief  we  feel  for  one  beloved — and  to-day  they  had 
learned  to  love  Christ. 

So  they  went  homeward. 

The  last  carriages  which  drew  up  before  the  entrance  were 
those  of  the  countess  and  her  friends.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
diplomatic  corps  were  already  standing  below,  waiting  for 
Countess  Wildenau  to  assign  them  their  seats  in  the  two 
landaus.  But  the  lady  was  still  leaning  against  the  pillar 
which  supported  one  end  of  the  box.  Pressing  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes,  she  vainly  strove  to  control  her  tears.  Her 
heart  throbbed  violently,  her  breath  was  short  and  quick — she 
could  not  master  her  emotion. 


»  FREYER.  95 

The  prince  stood  before  her,  pale  and  silent,  his  eyes,  too', 
vere  reddened  by  weeping. 

"Try  to  calm  yourself!"  he  said  firmly.  "  The  ladies  are 
Uill  in  their  box,  the  duchess  seems  to  expect  you  to  go  to  her. 
A.  woman  of  the  world,  like  yourself,  should  not  give  way  so." 

"  Give  way,  do  you  call  it  ?"  repeated  Madeleine,  who  did 
not  see  that  Prince  Emil,  too,  was  moved.  "  We  shall  never 
understand  each  other." 

At  this  moment  the  ladies  left  their  box  and  crossed  the 
intervening  space.  They  were  the  last  persons  in  the  theatre. 
The  duchess,  without  a  word,  threw  her  arms  around  Countess 
von  Wildenau's  neck.  Her  ladies-in-waiting,  too,  approached 
with  tearful  eyes,  and  when  the  duchess  at  last  released  her 
friend  from  her  embrace,  the  baroness  whispered :  "  Forgive 
me,  I  have  wronged  you  as  well  as  many  others — even  yester- 
day, forgive  me."  The  same  entreaty  was  expressed  in  Her 
Excellency's  glance  and  clasp  of  the  hand  as  she  said:  "Who- 
ever sees  this  must  repent  every  unloving  word  ever  uttered; 
we  will  never  forget  that  we  have  witnessed  it  together." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  should  have  borne  you  no  ill  will, 
even  had  I  known  what  you  have  now  voluntarily  confessed 
to  me!"  replied  the  countess,  kissing  the  ladies  with  dry, 
burning  lips. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?"  asked  the  duchess.  "  We  shall  be  locked  in." 

"I  will  come  directly — I  beg  you — will  your  Highness 
kindly  go  first  ?  I  should  like  to  rest  a  moment !"  stammered 
the  countess  in  great  confusion. 

"You  are  terribly  unstrung — that  is  natural — so  are  we  all. 
I  will  wait  for  you  below  and  take  you  in  my  carriage,  if  you 
wish.  We  can  weep  our  fill  together." 

"Your  Highness  is — very  kind,"  replied  the  countess, 
scarcely  knowing  what  she  answered. 

When  the  party  had  gone  down  stairs,  she  passionately 
seized  Prince  Emil's  arm:  "For  Heaven's  sake,  help  me  to 
escape  going  with  them.  I  will  not,  cannot  leave.  I  beseech 
you  by  all  that  is  sacred,  let  me  stay  here." 

"  So  it  is  settled !  The  result  is  what  I  feared,"  said  the 
prince  with  a  heavy  sigh.  "  I  can  only  beg  you  for  your  own 
sake  to  consider  the  ladies.  You  have  invited  them  to  dine 
day  after  to-morrow — " 


$6  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  I  know  it — apologize  for  me — say  whatever  you  please — 
you  will  know — you  can  manage  it — if  you  have  ever  loved 
me — help  me!  Drive  with  the  ladies — entertain  them,  that 
they  may  not  miss  me!" 

"  And  the  magnificent  ovation  which  the  gentlemen  have 
arranged  at  your  home  ?" 

"  What  do  I  care  for  it  ?" 

"  A  fairy  temple  awaits  you  at  the  Palace  Wildenau,  and 
you  will  stay  here  ?  What  a  pity  to  lose  the  beautiful  flowers, 
which  must  now  wither  in  vain." 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  For  Heaven's  sake,  act  quickly — some 
one  is  coming !"  She  was  trembling  in  every  limb  with  fear — 
but  it  was  no  member  of  the  party  sent  to  summon  her.  A 
short  man  with  clear  cut  features  stood  beside  her,  shrewd 
loyal  eyes  met  her  glance.  "  I  saw  that  you  were  still  here, 
Countess,  can  I  serve  you  in  any  way  ?" 

"Thank  Heaven,  it  is  Ludwig  Gross!"  cried  the  excited 
woman  joyously,  taking  his  arm.  "  Can  you  get  me  to  your 
father's  house  without  being  seen  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  can  guide  you  across  the  stage,  if  you  wish !" 

"  Quick,  then !  Farewell,  Prince — be  generous  and  forgive 
me!" 

She  vanished. 

The  prince  was  too  thoroughly  a  man  of  the  world  to  be- 
tray his  feelings  even  for  an  instant.  The  short  distance  down 
the  staircase  afforded  him  ample  time  to  decide  upon  his 
course.  The  misfortune  had  happened,  and  could  no  longer 
be  averted — but  it  concerned  himself  alone.  Her  name  and 
position  must  be  guarded. 

"  Have  you  come  without  the  countess  ? "  called  the 
duchess. 

"  I  must  apologize  for  her,  Your  Highness.  The  perform- 
ance has  so  completely  unstrung  her  nerves  that  she  is  un- 
able to  travel  to-day.  I  have  just  placed  her  in  her  landlord's 
charge  promising  not  only  to  make  her  apologies  to  the  ladies, 
but  also  endeavor  to  supply  her  place." 

"  Oh,  poor  Countess  Wildenau !  "  said  the  duchess,  kindly. 
"  Shall  we  not  go  to  her  assistance  ?" 

"  Permit  me  to  remind  your  Highness  that  we  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose,  if  we  wish  to  catch  the  train !" 


FREYER.  97 

"Is  it  possible !     Then  we  must  hurry." 

"  Yes — and  I  think  rest  will  be  best  for  the  countess  at 
present,"  answered  Prince  Emil,  helping  the  ladies  into  the 
carriage. 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  her  at  dinner  on  Tuesday  ?  She  will  be 
able  to  travel  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so." 

"  But,  Prince  Emil !  What  will  become  of  our  flowers  ?" 
asked  the  gentlemen. 

"  Oh,  they  will  keep  until  to-morrow !" 

"  I  suppose  she  has  no  suspicion?" 

"  Of  course  not,  and  it  is  far  better,  for  had  she  been  aware 
of  it,  no  doubt  she  would  have  gone  to-day,  in  spite  of  her  ill- 
ness, and  made  herself  worse." 

The  gentlemen  assented.  "  Still  it's  a  pity  about  the  flow- 
ers. If  they  will  only  keep  fresh!" 

"  She  will  let  many  a  blossom  wither,  which  may  well  be 
mourned !"  thought  the  prince  bitterly. 

"  Will  you  drive  with  us,  Prince  ?  "  asked  the  duchess. 

"  If  Your  Highness  will  permit !  Will  you  go  to  the 
Casino  to  night,  as  we  agreed,  gentlemen  ?"  he  called  as  he 
entered  the  vehicle. 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Prince  Hohenheim.  "  I  honestly  con- 
fess that  I  am  not  in  the  mood." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  St.  Genois.  "  This  has  moved  me  to  that — 
the  finest  circus  in  the  world  might  be  here  and  I  would  not 
enter!  The  burgomaster  of  Ammergau  was  right  in  per- 
mitting nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  back  everything  I  said  yesterday;  I  went 
to  laugh  and  wept,"  remarked  Wengenrode. 

"  It  has  robbed  me  of  all  desire  for  amusement,"  Cossigny 
added.  "  I  care  for  nothing  more  to-day." 

They  bowed  to  the  ladies  and  the  prince,  and  silently  en- 
tered their  carriages.  Prince  Emil  ordered  the  countess' 
coachman  to  drive  back  with  the  maid,  who  sat  hidden  in  one 
corner,  and  joined  the  duchess  and  her  companions. 

The  equipages  rolled  away  in  different  directions — one 
back  to  the  Gross  house,  the  other  to  Munich,  where  the  flor- 
ists were  toiling  busily  to  adorn  the  Wildenau  Palace  for  the 
reception  of  its  fortunate  owner,  who  was  not  coming. 


98  ON    THE    CROSS. 

Ludwig  Gross  led  the  countess  across  the  now  empty  stage. 
It  thrilled  her  with  a  strange  emotion  to  thread  its  floor,  and  in 
her  reverent  awe,  she  scarcely  ventured  to  glance  around  her 
at  the  vast,  dusky  space.  Suddenly  she  recoiled  from  an  un- 
expected horror — the  cross  lay  before  her.  Her  agitation  did 
not  escape  the  keen  perception  of  Ludwig  Gross,  and  he 
doubtless  understood  it ;  such  things  are  not  new  to  the  people 
of  Ammergau.  '•  I  will  see  whether  the  house  of  Pilate  is  still 
open,  perhaps  you  may  like  to  step  out  on  the  balcony  !"  he 
said,  and  moved  away  to  leave  her  alone. 

The  countess  understood  the  consideration  displayed  by  the 
sympathizing  man.  Kneeling  in  the  dark  wings,  she  threw  her- 
self face  downward  on  the  cross,  pressed  her  burning  lips  on 
the  hard  wood  which  had  supported  the  noble  body,  on  the 
marks  left  here  also  by  the  nails  which  had  apparently  pierced 
the  hands  of  the  crucified  one,  the  red  stains  made  by  his 
painted  wounds.  Aye,  it  had  become  true,  the  miracle  had 
happened.  The  artificial  blood  also  possessed  redeeming  power. 

Rarely  did  any  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  Land  ever  press  a  more 
fervent  kiss  upon  the  wood  of  the  true  cross,  than  was  now  be- 
stowed on  the  false  one. 

So,  in  the  days  of  yore,  Helen,  the  beautiful,  haughty  mother 
of  the  Emperor  Constantine,  may  have  flung  herself  down,  after 
her  long  sea  voyage,  when  she  at  last  found  the  long  sought 
cross  to  press  it  to  her  bosom  in  the  unutterable  joy  of  realiza- 
tion. 

Ludwig's  steps  approached,  and  the  countess  roused  her-i 
self  from  her  rapture. 

"  Unfortunately  the  house  is  closed,"  said  Ludwig,  who 
had  probably  been  perfectly  aware  of  it.  They  went  on  to 
the  dressing-rooms.  "  I'll  see  if  Freyer  is  still  here!"  and  the 
drawing-master  knocked  at  the  first  door.  The  countess  was 
so  much  startled  that  she  was  forced  to  lean  against  the  wall 
to  save  herself  from  falling.  Was  it  to  come  now — the  fateful 
moment!  Her  knees  threatened  to  give  way,  her  heart 
throbbed  almost  to  bursting — but  there  was  no  answer  to  the 
knock,  thrice  repeated.  He  was  no  longer  there.  Ludwig 
Gross  opened  the  door,  the  room  was  empty.  "  Will  you  come 
in  ?"  he  asked.  "  Would  it  interest  you  to  see  the  dressing- 
room  ?" 


FREYER.  -          vjn 

She  entered.  There  hung  his  garments,  still  damp  with 
perspiration  frohi  the  severe  toil. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  stooped  with  clasped  hands  in  the 
bare  little  chamber.  Something  white  and  glimmering  rustled 
and  floated  beside  her — it  was  the  transfiguration  robe.  She 
touched  it  lightly  with  her  hand  in  passing,  and  a  thrill  of  bliss 
ran  through  every  nerve. 

Ah,  and  there  was  the  crown  of  thorns. 

She  took  it  in  her  hand  and  tears  streamed  down  upon  it, 
as  though  it  were  some  sacred  relic.  Again  the  dream-like 
vision  stood  before  her  as  she  had  seen  it  for  the  first  time  on 
the  mountain  top  with  the  thorny  branches  swaying  around 
the  brow  like  an  omen.  "  No,  my  hands  shall  defend  thee 
that  no  thorn  shall  henceforth  tear  thee,  beloved  brow !"  she 
thought,  while  a  strange  smile  irradiated  her  face.  Then  look- 
ing up,  she  met  the  eyes  of  Ludwig,  fixed  upon  her  with  deep 
emotion  as  she  gazed  down  at  the  crown  of  thorns. 

She  replaced  it  and  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the  next 
room.  Caiaphas!  An  almost  childlike  dread  and  timidity  as- 
sailed her — the  sort  of  feeling  she  had  had  when  a  young  girl 
at  the  time  of  her  first  presentation  at  court — she  was  well-nigh 
glad  that  he  was  no  longer  there  and  she  had  time  to  calm 
herself  ere  she  confronted  the  mighty  priest. 

"  It  is  too  late,  they  have  all  gone !"  said  Ludwig,  offering 
his  companion  his  arm  to  lead  her  down  the  staircase. 

Numerous  groups  of  people  were  standing  in  front  of  the 
theatre  and  in  the  street  leading  to  the  village. 

"  What  are  they  doing  here  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"Oh,  they  are  waiting  for  Freyer !  It  is  always  so.  He  has 
slipped  around  again  by  a  side  path  to  avoid  seeing  any- 
one, and  the  poor  people  must  stand  and  wait  in  vain.  I 
have  often  told  him  that  he  ought  not  to  be  so  austere !  It 
would  please  them  so  much  if  he  would  but  give  them  one 
friendly  word — but  he  cannot  conquer  this  shyness.  He  can- 
not suffer  himself  to  be  revered  as  the  Christ,  after  the  Play  is 
over.  He  ought  not  to  permit  the  feeling  which  the  people 
have  for  the  Christ  to  be  transferred  to  his  person — that  is 
his  view  of  the  matter." 

"  It  is  a  lofty  and  noble  thought,  but  hard  for  us  poor 
mortals,  who  so  eagerly  cling  to  what  is  visible.  It  is  impos- 


1OO  ON    THE    CROSS. 

sible  not  to  transfer  the  impression  produced  by  the  character 
to  its  representative,  especially  with  a  personality  like  Freyer's!" 

Ludwig  Gross  nodded  assent.  "  Yes,  we  have  had  this 
experience  of  old.  Faith  needs  an  earthly  pledge,  says  our 
great  poet,  and  Freyer's  personation  is  such  a  pledge,  a  guar- 
antee of  whose  blessed  power  everyone  feels  sure." 

The  countess  eagerly  pressed  Ludwig's  hands. 

"  I  have  seen  people,"  Ludwig  added,  "who  were  happy, 
if  they  were  only  permitted  to  touch  Freyer's  garment,  as 
though  it  could  bring  them  healing  like  the  actual  robe  of 
Christ!  Would  not  Christ,  also,  if  He  beheld  this  pious  de- 
lusion, exclaim:  'Woman,  thy  faith  hath  saved  thee!' " 

A  deep  flush  crimsoned  the  countess"  face,  and  the  tears 
which  she  had  so  long  struggled  to  repress  flowed  in  streams. 
She  leaned  heavily  on  Ludwig's  arm,  and  he  felt  the  violent 
throbbing  of  her  heart.  It  touched  him  and  awakened  his 
compassion.  He  perceived  that  hers,  too,  was  a  suffering 
soul  seeking  salvation  here,  and  if  she  did  not  find  it,  would 
perish.  "  It  shall  be  yours,  poor  woman;  for  rich  as  you  may 
be,  you  are  still  poor — and  we  will  give  you  what  we  can!" 
he  thought. 

The  two  companions  pursued  their  way,  without  exchang- 
ing another  word.  The  countess  now  greeted  the  old  house 
like  a  lost  home  which  she  had  once  more  regained. 

Andreas  Gross  met  her  at  the  door,  took  off  her  shawl,  and 
carried  it  into  the  room  for  her. 

Josepha  had  already  returned  and  said  that]  the  countess 
was  ill. 

"I  hope  it  is  nothing  serious?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"No,  Herr  Gross,  1  am  well — but  I  cannot  go;  I  must 
make  the  acquaintance  of  these  people — 1  cannot  tear  myself 
away  from  this  impression  !" 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  laid  her  head  on  the  table  and 
sobbed  like  a  child.  "  Forgive  me,  Herr  Gross,  I  cannot  help 
it!"  she  said  with  difficulty,  amid  her  tears. 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  with  a  ges- 
ture of  paternal  kindness.  "  Weep  your  fill,  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  it,  do  not  heed  us !"  He  drew  her  gently  into  the 
sitting-room. 

Ludwig  had  vanished. 


FREYER.  101 

Josepha  entered  to  ask  whether  she  should  unpack  the 
luggage  which  was  up  in  her  room. 

4<  Yes,"  replied  the  countess,  "  and  let  the  carriages  return 
to  Munich,  until  I  need  them  again." 

•'  His  Highness  the  Prince  has  left  his  valet  here  for  your 
service,"  Josepha  reported. 

"  What  can  he  do  ?  Let  him  go  home,  too !  Let  them  all 
go — I  want  no  one  except  you !"  said  the  countess  sternly, 
hiding  her  face  again  in  her  handkerchief.  Josepha  went  out 
to  give  the  order.  Where  could  Ludwig  Gross  be  ? — He  had 
become  a  necessity  to  her  now,  thus  left  alone  with  her  over- 
flowing heart!  He  had  been  right  in  everything. — He  had  told 
her  that  she  would  learn  to  weep  here,  he  had  first  made 
her  understand  the  spirit  of  Ammergau.  Honor  and  gratitude 
were  his  due,  he  had  promised  nothing  that  had  not  been  ful- 
filled. He  was  thoroughly  genuine  and  reliable !  But  where 
had  he  gone,  did  not  this  man,  usually  so  sympathetic,  know 
that  just  now  he  might  be  of  great  help  to  her  ?  Or  did  he 
look  deeper  still,  and  know  that  he  was  but  a  substitute  for 
another,  for  whom  her  whole  soul  yearned  ?  It  was  so  lonely. 
A  death-like  stillness  reigned  in  the  house  and  in  the  street. 
All  were  resting  after  the  heavy  toil  of  the  day. 

Something  outside  darkened  the  window.  Ludwig  Gross 
was  passing  on  his  way  toward  the  door,  bringing  with  him  a 
tall,  dark  figure,  towering  far  above  the  low  window,  a  figure 
that  moved  shyly,  swiftly  along,  followed  by  a  throng  of 
people,  at  a  respectful  distance.  The  countess  felt  paralyzed. 
Was  he  coming  ?  Was  he  coming  in. 

She  could  not  rise  and  look — she  sat  with  clasped  hands, 
trembling  in  humble  expectation,  as  Danae  waited  the  moment 
when  the  shower  of  gold  should  fall.  Then — steps  echoed  in 
the  workshop — the  footsteps  of  two — !  They  were  an  eternity 
in  passing  down  its  length — but  they  were  really  approach- 
ing her  room — they  came  nearer — some  one  knocked !  She 
scarcely  had  breath  to  call  "come  in."  She  would  not 
believe  it — from  the  fear  of  disappointment.  She  still  sat 
motionless  at  the  table — Ludwig  Gross  opened  the  door  to 
allow  the  other  to  precede  him — and  Freyer  entered.  He 
stooped  slightly,  that  he  might  not  strike  his  head,  but  that 
was  needless,  for — what  miracle  was  this  ?  The  door  ex- 


102  ON    THE    CROSS. 

panded  before  the  countess'  eyes,  the  ceiling  rose  higher  and 
higher  above  him.  A  wide  lofty  space  filled  with  dazzling 
light  surrounded  him.  Colors  glittered  before  her  vision,  fig- 
ures floated  to  and  fro ;  were  they  shadows  or  angels  ?  Sh( 
knew  not,  a  mist  veiled  her  eyes — for  a  moment  she  ceased 
to  think.  Then  she  felt  as  if  she  had  awaked  from  a  deep 
slumber,  during  which  she  had  been  walking  in  her  sleep — for 
she  suddenly  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Freyer,  he  was 
holding  her  hands  in  his,  while  his  eyes  rested  on  hers — in 
speechless  silence. 

Then  she  regained  her  self-control  and  the  first  words  she 
uttered  were  addressed  to  Ludwig:  "  You  have  brought  him — /" 
she  said,  releasing  Freyer's  hands  to  thank  the  man  who  had 
so  wonderfully  guessed  her  yearning. 

Gift  and  gratitude  were  equal — and  here  both  were  meas- 
ureless !  She  scarcely  knew  at  this  moment  which  she  valued 
more,  the  man  who  brought  this  donation  or  the  gift  itself. 
But  from  this  hour  Ludwig  Gross  was  her  benefactor. 

"  You  have  brought  him  " — she  repeated,  for  she  knew 
not  what  more  to  say — that  one  word  contained  all!  Had 
she  possessed  the  eloquence  of  the  universe,  it  would  not  have 
been  so  much  to  Ludwig  as  that  one  word  and  the  look  which 
accompanied  it.  Then,  like  a  child  at  Christmas,  which,  after 
having  expressed  its  thanks,  goes  back  happily  to  its  presents, 
she  turned  again  to  Freyer. 

Yet,  as  the  child  stands  timidly  before  the  abundance  of 
its  gifts,  and,  in  the  first  moments  of  surprise,  does  not  ven- 
ture to  touch  them,  she  now  stood,  shy  and  silent  before  him, 
her  only  language  her  eyes  and  the  tears  which  streamed 
down  her  cheeks. 

Freyer  saw  her  deep  emotion  and,  bending  kindly  toward 
her,  again  took  her  hands  in  his.  Every  nerve  was  still  quiv- 
ering— she  could  feel  it — from  the  terrible  exertion  he  had 
undergone — and  as  the  moisture  drips  from  the  trees  after  the 
rain,  his  eyes  still  swam  in  tears,  and  his  face  was  damp  with 
perspiration. 

"  How  shall  I  thank  you  for  coming  to  me  after  this  day 
of  toil  ?"  she  began  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Oh,  Countess,"  he  answered  with  untroubled  truthful- 


S/it-  fiiiiiii'iilv  found  ktrselfface  to 
face  with  Freyrr 


FREYER.  103 

ness,  "  I  did  it  for  the  sake  of  my  friend  Ludwig — he  insisted 
upon  it." 

"  So  it  was  only  on  his  friend's  account,"  thought  the 
countess,  standing  with  bowed  head  before  him. 

He  was  now  the  king — and  she,  the  queen  of  her  brilliant 
sphere,  was  nothing  save  a  poor,  hoping,  fearing  woman ! 

At  this  moment  all  the  vanity  of  her  worldly  splendor  fell 
from  her — for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  stood  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  man  where  she  was  the  supplicant,  he  the  benefactor. 
What  a  feeling!  At  once  humiliating  and  blissful,  confusing 
and  enthralling!  She  had  recognized  by  that  one  sentence 
the  real  state  of  the  case — what  to  this  man  was  the  halo 
surrounding  the  Reichscountess  von  Wildenau  with  her  coro- 
net and  her  millions  ?  Joseph  Freyer  knew  but  one  aristoc- 
racy— that  of  the  saints  in  whose  sphere  he  was  accustomed 
to  move — and  if  he  left  it  for  the  sake  of  an  earthly  woman, 
he  would  stoop  to  her,  no  matter  how  far,  according  to 
worldly  ideals,  she  might  stand  above  him ! 

Yet  poor  and  insignificant  as  she  felt  in  his  presence — while 
the  lustre  of  her  coronet  and  the  glitter  of  her  gold  paled  and 
vanished  in  the  misty  distance — one  thing  remained  on  which 
she  could  rely,  her  womanly  charm,  and  this  must  wield  its  in- 
fluence were  she  a  queen  or  the  child  of  a  wood-cutter !  "Then, 
for  the  earthly  crown  you  have  torn  from  my  head,  proud  man, 
you  shall  give  me  your  crown  of  thorns,  and  I  will  still  be 
queen !"  she  thought,  as  the  spirit  of  Mother  Eve  stirred  within 
her  and  an  intoxicating  breeze  blew  from  the  Garden  of  Para- 
dise. Not  for  the  sake  of  a  base  emotion  of  vanity  and  covet- 
ousness,  nay,  she  wished  to  be  loved,  in  order  to  bless.  It  is 
the  nature  of  a  noble  woman  to  seek  to  use  her  power  not  to 
receive,  but  to  give,  to  give  without  stint  or  measure.  The 
brain  thinks  quickly — but  the  heart  is  swifter  still !  Ere  the 
mind  has  time  to  grasp  the  thought,  the  heart  has  seized  it. 
The  countess  had  experienced  all  this  in  the  brief  space  during 
which  Freyer's  eyes  rested  on  her.  Suddenly  he  lowered  his 
lashes  and  said  in  a  whisper :  "  I  think  we  have  met  before, 
countess." 

"  On  my  arrival  Friday  evening.  You  were  standing  on 
the  top  of  the  mountain  while  I  was  driving  at  the  foot  Was 
it  not  so  ?" 


104  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured  almost  inaudibly,  and  there  was 
something  like  an  understanding,  a  sweet  familiarity  in  the 
soft  assent.  She  felt  it,  and  her  hand  clasped  his  more  firmly 
with  a  gentle  pressure. 

He  again  raised  his  lashes,  gazing  at  her  with  an  earnest, 
questioning  glance,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  felt  a  pulse  throb- 
bing in  the  part  of  the  hand  which  bore  the  mark  of  the 
wound — the  warning  did  not  fail  to  produce  its  effect. 

"  Christus,  my  Christus !"  she  whispered  repentantly.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  had  committed  a  sin  in  suffering  an  earthly 
wish  to  touch  the  envoy  of  God.  He  was  crucified,  dead,  and 
buried.  He  only  walked  on  earth  like  a  spirit  permitted  to 
return  from  time  to  time  and  dwell  for  a  brief  space  among  the 
living.  Who  could  claim  a  spirit,  clasp  a  shadow  to  the  heart  ? 
Grief  oppressed  her,  melancholy,  akin  to  the  grief  we  feel  when 
we  dream  of  the  return  of  some  beloved  one  who  is  dead,  and 
throw  ourselves  sobbing  on  his  breast,  while  we  are  aware  that 
it  is  only  a  dream !  But  even  if  but  a  dream,  should  she  not 
dream  it  with  her  whole  soul  ?  If  she  knew  that  he  was  given 
to  her  only  a  few  moments,  should  she  not  crowd  into  them 
with  all  the  sweeter,  more  sorrowful  strength,  the  love  of  a 
whole  life  ? 

After  us  the  deluge,  says  love  to  the  moment — and  that 
which  does  not  say  it  is  not  love. 

But  in  this  moment,  the  countess  felt,  lay  the  germ  of  some- 
thing imperishable,  and  when  it  was  past  there  would  begin 
for  her — not  annihilation,  but  eternity.  To  it  she  must  answer 
for  what  she  did  with  the  moment ! 

Ludwig  Gross  was  standing  by  the  window,  he  did  not 
wish  to  listen  what  was  communicated  by  the  mute  language 
of  those  eyes.  He  had  perceived,  with  subtle  instinct,  the 
existence  of  some  mysterious  connection,  in  which  no  third 
person  had  any  part.  They  were  alone — virtually  alone,  yet 
neither  spoke,  only  their  tearful  eyes  expressed  the  suffering 
which  he  endured  and  she  shared  in  beholding. 

"  Come,  poor  martyr !"  cried  her  heart,  and  she  released 
one  of  his  hands  to  clasp  the  other  more  closely  with  both  her 
own.  She  noticed  a  slight  quiver.  u  Does  your  hand  still 
ache — from  the  terrible  nail  which  seemed  to  be  driven  into 
your  flesh  ?" 


PREYER.  105 

"  Oh,  no,  that  would  cause  no  pain ;  the  nail  passes 
between  the  fingers  and  the  large  head  extends  toward  the 
center  of  the  palm.  But  to-day,  by  accident,  Joseph  of  Ari- 
mathea  in  drawing  out  the  nail  took  a  piece  of  the  flesh  with 
it,  so  that  I  clenched  my  teeth  with  the  pain!"  he  said, 
smiling,  and  showing  her  the  wound.  "  Do  you  see  ?  Now 
I  am  really  stigmatized !" 

"  Good  Heavens,  there  is  a  large  piece  of  the  flesh  torn 
out,  and  you  bore  it  without  wincing  ?" 

"  Why,  of  course  !"  he  said,  simply. 

Ludwig  gazed  fixedly  out  of  the  window.  The  countess 
had  gently  drawn  the  wounded  hand  nearer  and  nearer;  sud- 
denly forgetting  everything  in  an  unutterable  feeling,  she 
stooped  and  ere  Freyer  could  prevent  it  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
the  bloody  stigma. 

Joseph  Freyer  shrank  as  though  struck  by  a  thunderbolt, 
drawing  back  his  hand  and  closing  it  as  if  against  some 
costly  gift  which  he  dared  not  accept.  A  deep  flush  crim- 
soned his  brow,  his  broad  chest  heaved  passionately  and  he 
was  obliged  to  cling  to  a  chair,  to  save  himself  from  falling. 
Yet  unconsciously  his  eyes  flashed  with  a  fire  at  once  con- 
suming and  life-bestowing — a  Prometheus  spark! 

"  You  are  weary,  pardon  me  for  not  having  asked  you  to 
sit  down  long  ago !"  said  the  countess,  making  an  effort  to 
calm  herself,  and  motioning  to  Ludwig  Gross,  in  order  not  to 
leave  him  standing  alone. 

"  Only  a  moment " — whispered  Freyer,  also  struggling  to 
maintain  his  composure,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair.  Madeleine 
von  Wildenau  turned  away,  to  give  him  time  to  regain  his  self- 
command.  She  saw  his  intense  emotion,  and  might  perhaps 
have  been  ashamed  of  her  hasty  act  had  she  not  known  its 
meaning — for  her  feeling  at  that  moment  was  too  sacred  for 
him  to  have  misunderstood  it.  Nor  had  he  failed  to  com- 
prehend, but  it  had  overpowered  him. 

Ludwig,  who  clearly  perceived  the  situation,  interposed 
with  his  usual  tact  to  relieve  their  embarrassment :  "  Freyer 
is  particularly  exhausted  to-day ;  he  told  me,  on  our  way  here, 
that  he  had  again  been  taken  from  the  cross  senseless." 

"  Good  Heavens,  does  that  happen  often  ?"  asked  the 
countess. 


106  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  Unfortunately,  yes,"  said  Ludwig  in  a  troubled  tone. 

"  It  is  terrible — your  father  told  me  that  the  long  suspen- 
sion on  the  cross  was  dangerous.  Can  nothing  be  done  to 
relieve  it  ?" 

"  Something  might  be  accomplished,"  replied  Ludwig,  "  by 
substituting  a  flat  cross  for  the  rounded  one.  Formerly,  when 
we  had  a  smooth,  angular  one,  it  did  not  tax  his  strength  so 
much !  But  some  authority  in  archaeology  told  us  that  the 
crosses  of  those  days  were  made  of  semi-circular  logs,  and  this 
curve,  over  which  the  back  is  now  strained,  stretches  the  limbs 
too  much." 

"  I  should  think  so  !"  cried  the  countess  in  horror.  "  Why 
do  you  use  such  an  instrument  of  torture  ?" 

"  He  himself  insists  upon  it,  for  the  sake  of  historical  ac- 
curacy." 

"  But  suppose  you  should  not  recover,  from  one  of  these 
fainting  fits  ?"  asked  the  lady,  reproachfully. 

Then  Freyer,  conquering  his  agitation,  raised  his  head. 
"  What  more  beautiful  fate  could  be  mine,  Countess,  than  to 
die  on  the  cross,  like  my  redeemer  ?  It  is  all  that  I  desire." 

"All?"  she  repeated,  and  a  keen  emotion  of  jealousy  as- 
sailed her,  jealousy  of  the  cross,  to  which  he  would  fain  devote 
his  life !  She  met  his  dark  eyes  with  a  look,  a  sweet,  yearning 
— fatal  look — a  poisoned  arrow  whose  effect  she  well  knew. 
She  grudged  him  to  the  cross,  the  dead,  wooden  instrument  of 
martyrdom,  which  did  not  feel,  did  not  love,  did  not  long  for 
him  as  she  did !  And  the  true  Christ  ?  Ah,  He  was  too  noble 
to  demand  such  a  sacrifice — besides,  He  would  receive  too 
souls  for  one,  for  surely,  in  His  image,  she  loved  Him.  He 
had  sent  her  the  hand  marked  with  blood  stains  to  show  her 
the  path  to  Him — He  could  not  desire  to  withdraw  it,  ere  the 
road  was  traversed. 

"  You  are  a  martyr  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,"  she  said. 
Her  eyes  seemed  to  ask  whether  the  shaft  had  struck.  But 
Freyer  had  lowered  his  lids  and  sat  gazing  at  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  Countess,"  he  said  evasively,  "  to  have  one's  limbs 
wrenched  for  half  an  hour  does  not  make  a  martyr.  That  suf- 
fering brings  honor  and  the  consciousness  of  serving  others. 
Many,  like  my  friend  Ludwig,  and  other  natives  of  Ammergau, 
offer  to  our  cause  secret  sacrifices  of  happiness  which -no 


FREYER.  107 

i 

audience  beholds  and  applauds,  and  which  win  no  renown  save 
in  their  own  eyes  and  God's.     They  are  martyrs,  Countess ! — ,. 
I  am  merely  a  vain,  spoiled,  sinful  man,  who  has  enough  to  do 
to  keep  himself  from  being  dazzled  by  the  applause  of  the 
world  and  to  become  worthy  of  his  task." 

rt  To  become  /"  the  countess  repeated.  "  I  think  whoever 
speaks  in  that  way,  is  worthy  already." 

Freyer  raised  his  eyes  with  a  look  which  seemed  to  Mad- 
eleine von  Wildenau  to  lift  her  into  a  higher  realm.  "  Who 
would  venture  to  say  that  he  was  worthy  of  this  task  ?  It  re- 
quires a  saint.  All  I  can  hope  for  is  that  God  will  use  the 
imperfect  tool  to  work  His  miracles,  and  that  He  will  accept 
my  will  for  the  deed, — otherwise  I  should  be  forced  to  give 
up  the  part  this  very  day" 

The  countess  was  deeply  moved. 

"  Oh,  Freyer,  wonderful,  divinely  gifted  nature !  To  us 
you  are  the  Redeemer,  and  yet  you  are  so  severe  to  yourself." 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Countess !  I  must  not  listen  !  I  will  not 
add  to  all  my  sins  that  of  robbing  my  Master,  in  His  garb,  of 
what  belongs  to  Him  alone.  You  cannot  suspect  how  it 
troubles  me  when  people  show  me  this  reverence ;  I  always 
long  to  cry  out, '  Do  not  confound  me  with  Him — I  am 
nothing  more  than  the  wood — or  the  marble  from  which  an 
image  of  the  Christ  is  carved,  and  withal  bad  wood,  marble 
which  is  not  free  from  stains.'  And  when  they  will  not  believe 
it,  and  continue  to  transfer  to  me  the  love  which  they  ought  to 
have  for  Christ — I  feel  that  I  am  robbing  my  Master,  and  no 
one  knows  how  I  suffer."  He  started  up.  "  That  is  why  I 
mingle  so  little  with  others — and  if  I  ever  break  this  rule  I  re- 
pent it,  for  my  peace  of  mind  is  destroyed." 

He  took  his  hat.  His  whole  nature  seemed  changed — 
this  was  the  chaste  severity  with  which  he  had  driven  the 
money  changers  from  the  temple,  and  Madeleine  turned  pale — 
chilled  to  the  inmost  heart  by  his  inflexible  bearing. 

"  Are  you  going  ?"  she  murmured  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  It  is  time,"  he  answered,  gently,  but  with  an  unapproach- 
able dignity  which  made  the  words  with  which  she  would  fain 
have  entreated  him  to  stay  longer,  die  upon  her  lips. 

"Your  Highness  will  leave  to  morrow?" 
1  "  The  countess  intends  to  remain  some  time,"  said  Ludwig, 


Io8  ON    THE    CROSS. 

pressing  his  friend's  arm  lightly,  as  a  warning  not  to  wound 
her  feelings. 

"  Ah,"  replied  Freyer,  thoughtfully,  "  then  perhaps  we  shall 
meet  again." 

"  I  have  not  yet  answered  what  you  have  said  to-day; 
will  you  permit  me  to  do  so  to-morrow  ?"  asked  the  countess, 
gently;  an  expression  of  quiet  suffering  hovered  around  her 
lips. 

"  To-morrow  I  play  the  Christ  again,  Countess  —  but 
doubtless  some  opportunity  will  be  found  within  the  next  few 
days." 

"  As  you  please — farewell !" 

Freyer  bowed  respectfully,  but  as  distantly  as  if  he  did  not 
think  it  possible  that  the  lady  would  offer  him  her  hand. 
Ludwig,  on  the  contrary,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  his  friend's 
omission,  frankly  extended  his.  She  clasped  it,  saying  in  a 
low,  hurried  tone :  "  Stay !" 

"  I  will  merely  go  with  Freyer  to  the  door,  and  then  return, 
if  you  will  allow  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  dismissing  Freyer  with  a  haughty  wave  of 
the  hand.  Then,  throwing  herself  into  the  chair  by  the  table, 
she  burst  into  bitter  weeping.  She  had  always  been  sur- 
rounded by  men  who  sued  for  her  favor  as  though  it  were  a 
royal  gift.  And  here — here  she  was  disdained,  and  by  whom  ? 
A  man  of  the  people — a  plebeian !  No,  a  keen  pang  pierced 
her  heart  as  she  tried  to  give  him  that  name.  If  he  was  a 
plebeian,  so,  too,  was  Christ.  Christ,  too,  sprang  from  the 
people — the  ideal  of  the  human  race  was  born  in  a  manger! 
She  could  summon  to  confront  Him  only  one  kind  of  pride, 
that  of  the  woman,  not  of  the  high-born  lady.  Alas — she  had 
not  even  this.  How  often  she  had  flung  her  heart  away  with- 
out love.  For  the  mess  of  pottage  of  gratified  vanity  or  an 
interesting  situation,  as  the  prince  had  said  yesterday,  she  had 
bartered  the  birthright  of  the  holiest  feelings.  Of  what  did  she 
dare  to  be  proud  ?  That,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
really  loved  ?  Was  she  to  avenge  herself  by  arrogance  upon 
the  man  who  had  awakened  this  divine  emotion  because  he 
did  not  share  it  ?  No,  that  would  be  petty  and  ungrateful. 
Yet  what  could  she  do  ?  He  was  so  far  above  her  in  his  un- 
assuming simplicity,  so  utterly  inviolable.  She  was  captured 


FREYER.  109 

by  his  nobility,  Tier  weapons  were  powerless  against  him.  As 
she  gazed  around  her  for  some  support  by  which  she  might  lift 
herself  above  him,  every  prop  of  her  former  artificial  life 
snapped  in  her  grasp  before  the  grand,  colossal  verity  of  this 
apparition.  She  could  do  nothing  save  love  and  suffer,  and 
accept  whatever  fate  he  bestowed. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door ;  almost  mechanically  she 
gave  the  permission  to  enter. 

Ludwig  Gross  came  in  noiselessly  and  approached  her. 
Without  a  word  she  held  out  her  hand,  as  a  patient  extends  it 
to  the  physician.  He  stood  by  her  side  and  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  weeping  woman  with  the  sympathy  and  understanding 
born  of  experience  in  suffering.  But  his  presence  was  infinitely 
soothing.  This  man  would  allow  nothing  to  harm  her !  So 
far  as  his  power  extended,  she  was  safe. 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  beseeching  help — and  he  under- 
stood her. 

"  Freyer  was  unusually  excited  to-day,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not 
know  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  I  never  saw  him  in  such 
a  mood  before !  When  we  entered  the  garden,  he  embraced 
me  as  if  something  extraordinary  had  happened,  and  then 
rushed  off  as  though  the  ground  was  burning  under  his  feet — 
of  course  in  the  direction  opposite  to  his  home,  for  the  whole 
street  was  full  of  people  waiting  to  see  him." 

The  countess  held  her  breath  to  listen. 

"Was  he  in  this  mood  when  you  called  for  him?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  he  was  as  usual,  calm  and  weary." 

"  What  changed  him  so  suddenly  ?" 

"  I  believe,  Countess,  that  you  have  made  an  impression 
upon  him  which  he  desires  to  understand.  You  have  thrown 
him  out  of  the  regular  routine,  and  he  no  longer  comprehends 
his  own  feelings." 

"  But  I — I  said  so  little — I  don't  understand,"  cried  the 
countess,  blushing. 

"  The  important  point  does  not  always  depend  on  what  is 
said,  but  on  what  is  not  said,  Countess.  Tp  /Wp  soul;;  what 
isjmuttered  is  often  more  significant  than  words." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  lowered  her  eyes  and  silently 
clasped  Ludwig's  hand. 


110  ON    THE   CROSS. 

"  Do  you  think  that  he — "  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence, 
Ludwig  spared  her. 

"  From  my  knowledge  of  Freyer — either  he  will  never  re- 
turn, or — he  will  come  to-morrow" 


CHAPTER   IX. 


SIGNS   AND    WONDERS. 

THE  great  number  of  strangers  who  were  unable  to  get 
tickets  the  day  before  had  rendered  a  second  performance 
necessary.  The  countess  did  not  attend  it.  To  her  the  play 
had  been  no  spectacle,  but  an  experience — a  repetition  would 
have  degraded  it  to  a  mere  drama.  She  had  spent  the  day  in 
retirement,  like  a  prisoner,  that  she  might  not  fall  into  the 
hands  of  any  acquaintances.  Now  the  distant  rumble  of  car- 
riages announced  the  close  of  the  performance.  It  was  a 
delightful  autumn  evening.  The  Gross  family  came  to  the 
window  on  their  return  home,  and  wondered  to  find  the  coun- 
tess still  in  her  room.  The  sounds  of  stifled  sobs  echoed  from 
the  work  room.  The  other  lodgers  in  the  house  had  come 
back  from  the  theatre  and,  like  every  one,  were  paying  their 
tribute  of  tears.  An  American  had  gone  to-day  for  the  second 
time.  He  sat  weeping  on  the  bench  near  the  stove,  and  said 
that  it  had  been  even  more  touching  than  yesterday.  Andreas 
Gross  assented :  "  Yes,  Joseph  Freyer  never  played  as  he  did 
to-day." 

The  countess,  sitting  in  her  room,  heard  the  words  and 
was  strangely  moved.  Why  had  he  never  played  as  he  did  to- 
day ? 

Some  one  tapped  gently  on  the  door. 

A  burning  blush  suffused  the  countess'  face — had  he —  / 
He  might  have  passed  through  the  garden  from  the  other  side 
to  avoid  the  spectators.  "  Come  in  !"  she  called. 

It  was  Josepha  with  a  telegram  in  her  hand.  The  mes- 
senger was  waiting  for  an  answer. 

The  countess  opened  it  and  read  the  contents.  It  was  from 
the  prince.  "  Please  inform  me  whether  I  shall  countermand 
the  dinner." 


SIGNS   AND    WONDERS.  -        It  I 

"  Very  well.     I  will  send  the  reply." 

Josepha  withdrew. 

"  If  Ludwig  were  only  here  !"  thought  the  countess.  "  He 
must  be  waiting  to  bring  Freyer,  as  he  did  yesterday." 

The  rapid  pulsing  of  her  heart  almost  stifled  her.  One 
quarter  of  an  hour  passed  after  another.  At  last  Ludwig 
came — but  alone. 

The  countess  was  sitting  at  the  open  window  and  Ludwig 
paused  beside  it. 

"  Well,  how  was  the  play  to-day  ?" 

"  Magnificent,"  he  replied.  "  I  never  saw  Freyer  so 
superb.  He  was  perfect,  fairly  superhuman !  It  is  a  pity  that 
you  were  not  there." 

"  Did  he  inquire  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  explained  to  him  that  you  did  not  wish  to  see  it 
a  second  time — and  for  what  reason.  He  nodded  and  said : 
'  I  am  glad  the  lady  feels  so.'  " 

"  Then — we  understand  each  other !"  The  countess  drew 
a  long  breath.  "  Did  you  ask  him  to  come  here  with  you  ?" 

"  No.  I  thought  I  ought  not  to  do  that — he  must  come 
now  of  his  own  free  will,  or  you  would  be  placed  in  a  false 
position." 

"  You  are  right — I  thank  you  !"  said  the  countess,  turning 
pale  and  biting  her  lips.  "  Do  you  think  that  —  he  will 
come  ?" 

"  Unfortunately,  no — he  went  directly  home." 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Countess." 

"  Despatch  a  telegram  for  me.  I  have  arranged  to  give  a 
dinner  party  at  home  and  should  like  to  send  a  message  that 
I  am  coming." 

"  You  will  not  remain  here  longer  ?" 

"  No !"  she  said  in  a  tone  sharp  and  cutting  as  a  knife 
which  is  thrust  into  one's  own  heart.  "  Come  in,  please." 

Ludwig  obeyed  the  command  and  she  wrote  with  the 
bearing  of  a  queen  signing  a  death-warrant : 

"  HEREDITARY  PRINCE  OF  METTEN-BARNHEIM,  Munich. 
"  Will  come  at  five  to-morrow.     Dinner  can  be  given. 

"  MADELEINE."  , 


112  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  Here,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,"  she  said,  handing  the 
sheet  to  Ludwig. 

The  latter  gazed  earnestly  at  her,  as  though  he  wanted  to 
say :  "  If  only  you  don't  repent  it."  But  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion in  the  modest  wording :  "  Shall  I  send  it  at  once  f" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please !"  she  answered,  and  her  whole 
manner  expressed  a  coldness  which  startled  Ludwig. 

"  Can  genuine  warmth  of  heart  freeze  so  quickly  ?"  he 
asked  himself.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  felt  the  mute  re- 
proach and  disappointment  in  Ludwig's  manner.  She  felt, 
too,  that  he  was  right,  and  called  him  back  as  he  reached  the 
door.  "  Give  it  to  me,"  she  said,  taking  the  telegram,  "  I 
will  consider  the  matter."  Then  meeting  the  eyes  of  the 
noble  man,  which  now  brightened  again  for  her  sake,  she 
added  earnestly,  holding  out  her  hand,  "You  understand 
me  better  than  I  do  myself." 

"  I  thank  you  for  those  words — they  make  me  very 
proud,  Countess !"  said  Ludwig  with  a  radiant  glance,  placing 
the  telegram  on  the  table.  "I  will  go  now  that  I  may 
not  disturb  you  while  you  are  considering  what  course  to 
pursue." 

He  left  the  room.  Twilight  was  gathering.  The  count- 
ess sat  by  the  table  holding  the  telegram  clenched  in  her  little 
hand. 

"The  people  of  Ammergau  unconsciously  exercise  a 
moral  constraint  which  is  irresistible.  There  is  a  power  of 
truth  in  them  which  prevents  even  self-deception  in  their 
presence !"  she  murmured  half  defiantly,  half  admiringly. 
What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  To  remain  longer  here  and 
countermand  the  dinner  meant  a  positive  breach  with  society. 
But  who  was  there  here  to  thank  her  for  such  a  sacrifice  ? 
Who  cared  for  the  Countess  Wildenau  ?  She  was  one  of  the 
thousands  who  came  and  went,  taking  with  them  a  lofty 
memory,  without  leaving  any  remembrance  in  the  mind  of 
any  one.  Why  should  she  hold  them  accountable  if  she  gave 
to  this  impression  a  significance  which  was  neither  intended 
nor  suspected.  We  must  not  force  upon  men  sacrifices  which 
they  do  not  desire ! 

She  rested  her  arm  on  the  table  and  sat  irresolute.  Now 
—now  in  this  mood,  to  return  to  the  prosaic,  superficial' 


SIGNS    AND    WONDERS.  113 

round,  after  imagining  yesterday  that  she  stood  face  to  face 
with  deity  ?  Could  she  do  it  ?  Was  not  the  mute  reproach 
in  Ludwig's  glance  true  ?  She  thoughtfully  rested  her  beauti- 
ful face  on  her  hand. 

She  had  not  noticed  a  knock  at  the  door,  a  carriage  was 
driving  by  whose  rattle  drowned  every  sound.  For  the  same 
reason  the  person  outside,  supposing  that  he  had  not  heard 
the  "  come  in !"  softly  opened  the  door.  At  the  noise  the 
countess  raised  her  head — Freyer  stood  before  her. 

"  You  have  come,  you  did  come !"  she  exclaimed,  starting 
up  and  seizing  his  hand  that  the  sweet,  blissful  dream  might 
not  vanish  once  more. 

"  Excuse  me  if  I  disturb  you,"  he  said  in  a  low,  timid 
tone.  "  I — I  should  not  have  come — but  I  could  not  bear  to 
stay  at  home,  I  was  so  excited  to-day.  When  evening  came, 
some  impulse  drove  me  here — I  was — I  had — " 

"  You  had  a  desire  to  talk  to  some  one  who  could  under- 
stand you,  and  this  urged  you  to  me,  did  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  Countess !  But  I  should  not  have  ventured  to 
come  in,  had  not — " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Ludwig  met  me  and  said  that  you  were  going  away — " 

"  Ah — and  did  you  regret  it  ?" 

"  I  wished  at  least  to  bid  you  farewell  and  thank  you  for 
all  your  kindness  to  my  unhappy  cousin  Josepha !"  he  said 
evasively.  "  I  neglected  to  do  so  yesterday,  I  was  so  em- 
barrassed." 

"You  are  not  sincere  with  me,  Herr  Freyer!"  said  the 
countess,  motioning  to  him  to  sit  down.  "  This  expression  of 
thanks  does  not  come  from  your  heart,  for  you  do  not  care 
what  I  do  for  Josepha.  That  is  merely  the  pretext  for  coming 
to  me — because  you  do  not  wish  to  confess  what  really 
brought  you.  Am  1  not  right  ?" 

"  Countess !"  said  Freyer,  completely  disconcerted,  as  he 
tried  to  rise. 

She  gently  laid  her  hand  on  his,  detaining  him.  "  Stay ! 
Your  standard  is  so  rigid  in  everything — what  is  your  view  of 
truth  ?" 

Freyer  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"  Is  it  true,  when  you  say  that  you  came  to  thank  me  for 


114  ON   THE    CROSS. 

i 

Josepha  ?  Were  you  not  drawn  hither  by  the  feeling  that,  of 
all  the  thousands  of  souls  who  pass  you  in  the  course  of  the 
summer,  perhaps  there  is  not  one  who  could  understand  you 
and  your  task  as  I  do  ?" 

Freyer  clasped  his  hands  on  his  knees  and  silently  bent 
his  head. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  thought  of  me  as  I  have  thought 
of  you,  all  day  long,  since  our  eyes  met  on  the  mountain,  as 
though  some  higher  power  had  pointed  us  out  to  each 
other." 

Freyer  remained  silent,  but  as  the  full  cup  overflows  at  the 
slightest  movement,  tears  again  gushed  from  his  eyes. 

"  Why  did  you  look  at  me  so  from  head  to  foot,  pouring 
forth  in  that  gaze  your  whole  soul  with  a  world  of  grief  and 
joy,  as  a  blossoming  tree  showers  its  flowers  on  the  passer-by? 
Surely  not  on  account  of  a  woman's  face,  though  it  may  be 
passably  fair,  but  because  you  felt  that  I  perceived  the  Christ 
in  you  and  that  it  was  He  for  whom  I  came.  Your  glance 
meant  to  tell  me :  '  It  is  I  whom  you  are  seeking !'  and  I  be- 
lieve you.  And  when  at  last  the  promise  was  fulfilled  and 
the  long  sought  redeemer  stood  before  me,  was  it  by  chance 
that  his  prophetic  eye  discovered  me  among  the  thousands  of 
faces  when  he  said:  '  But  in  many  hearts  day  will  soon  dawn!' 
Did  you  not  seek  me,  as  we  look  for  a  stranger  to  whom  we 
must  fulfill  a  promise  given  on  the  journey?" 

Freyer  now  raised  his  dark  eyes  and  fixed  them  full  upon 
her,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  And  is  it  true  that  you  came  yesterday,  only  because 
Ludwig  wished  it,  you  who,  spite  of  all  entreaties,  have  kept 
ladies  who  had  the  world  at  their  feet  waiting  on  your  stairs 
for  hours  ?  Did  you  not  come  because  you  suspected  that  I 
might  be  the  woman  with  whom,  since  that  meeting,  you  had 
had  some  incomprehensible  spiritual  bond  ?" 

Freyer  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  was  afraid 
more  might  be  read  in  them. 

"  Be  truthful,  Herr  Freyer,  it  is  unworthy  of  you  and  of 
me  to  play  a  conventional  farce.  I  am  compelled  to  act  so 
many  in  my  life  that  I  would  fain  for  once  be  frank,  as 
mortal  to  mortal !  Tell  me  simply,  have  I  judged  correctly — 
yes  or  no  ?" 


SIGNS    AND    WONDERS.  115 

"  Yes !"  whispered  Freyer,  without  looking  up. 

She  gently  drew  his  hand  down.  "  And  to-day — to-day — 
did  you  come  merely  out  of  gratitude  for  your  cousin  ?"  she 
questioned  with  the  archness  of  her  increasing  certainty  of 
happiness. 

He  caught  the  little  hand  with  which  she  had  clasped  his, 
and  raised  it  ardently  to  his  lips;  then,  as  if  startled  that  he 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  so  far,  he  flung  back  his 
raven  locks  as  if  they  had  deluded  his  senses,  and  pushed  his 
chair  farther  away  in  order  not  to  be  again  led  into  temptation. 
She  did  not  interfere — she  knew  that  he  was  in  her  power — 
struggle  as  he  might,  the  dart  was  fixed.  Yet  the  obstacles  she 
had  to  conquer  were  great  and  powerful.  Coquetry  would  be 
futile,  only  the  moral  force  of  a  genuine  feeling  could  cope 
with  them,  and  of  this  she  was  conscious,  with  a  happiness 
never  felt  before.  Again  she  searched  her  own  heart,  and  her 
rapid  glance  wandered  from  the  thorn-scarred  brow  of  the 
wonderful  figure  before  her,  to  pierce  the  depths  of  her  own 
soul.  Her  love  for  him  was  genuine,  she  was  not  toying  with 
his  heart ;  she  wished,  like  Mary  Magdalene,  to  sanctify  her- 
self in  his  love.  But  she  was  the  Magdalene  in  \hzfirst  stage. 
Had  Christ  been  a  man,  and  attainable  like  this  man,  what 
transformations  the  Penitent's  heart  must  have  undergone,  ere 
its  fires  wrought  true  purification. 

"  Herr  Freyer,"  the  countess  began  in  a  low,  eager  tone, 
"  you  said  yesterday  that  it  troubled  you  when  people  showed 
you  idolatrous  reverence  and  you  felt  that  you  thereby  robbed 
your  Master.  Can  we  give  aught  to  any  earthly  being  without 
giving  it  to  God?" 

Freyer  listened  intently. 

"  Is  there  any  soul  which  does  not  belong  to  God,  did  not 
emanate  from  Him,  is  not  a  part  of  His  power  ?  And  does 
not  that  which  flows  from  one  part  to  another  stream  back  in 
a  perpetual  circle  to  the  Creator?  We  can  take  nothing  which 
does  not  come  from  God,  give  nothing  which  does  not  return 
to  Him.  Do  you  know  the  principle  of  the  preservation  of 
power  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Freyer,  confused  by  his  ignorance  of  something 
he  was  asked. 

"  Well,  it  can  be  explained  in  a  very  few  words.    Science  has 


Il6  ON    THE    CROSS. 

proved  that  nothing  in  the  universe  can  be  lost,  that  even  a 
force  which  is  apparently  uselessly  squandered  is  merely  trans- 
formed into  another.  Thus  in  God  nothing  can  be  lost,  even 
though  it  has  no  direct  relation  to  Him — for  he  is  the  spiritual 
universe.  True,  every  feeling  does  not  produce  a  work  of 
God,  any  more  than  every  effort  of  nature  brings  forth  some 
positive  result.  But  as  in  the  latter  case  the  force  expended 
is  not  lost,  because  it  produces  other,  though  secondary  results, 
so  in  God  no  sentiment  of  love  and  enthusiasm  is  lost,  even 
though  it  may  relate  to  Him  only  in  a  secondary  degree." 

"  Very  true." 

"  Then  if  that  is  so, — how  can  any  one  rob  this  God,  who 
surrounds  us  like  the  universe,  from  which  we  come,  into  which 
we  pass  again,  and  in  which  our  forces  are  constantly  trans- 
formed in  a  perpetual  round  of  change." 

Freyer  rested  his  head  on  his  hand,  absorbed  in  thought. 

"  And  if  a  feeling  is  so  deeply  rooted  in  religion,  so  directly 
associated  with  God  as  that  which  men  offer  to  you,  His  rep- 
resentative, why  should  you  have  these  scruples  ?" 

"  I  have  never  heard  any  one  talk  in  this  way!  Pardon  my 
faint-heartedness,  and  ignorance — I  am  a  poor,  simple-hearted 
man — you  will  be  indulgent,  will  you  not  ?" 

"  Freyer !"  cried  the  countess,  deeply  moved,  and  spite  of 
the  distance  to  which  he  had  pushed  his  chair,  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  You  see,  I  had  no  opportunity  to  attend  a  higher  school, 
I  was  so  poor.  I  lost  my  parents  when  a  lad  of  twelve  and 
received  only  the  most  necessary  instruction.  All  my  knowl- 
edge I  obtained  afterwards  by  reading,  and  it  is  of  course 
defective  and  insufficient.  On  our  mountains,  beside  our  rush- 
ing streams,  among  the  hazel  bushes  whose  nuts  were  often 
my  only  food,  I  grew  up,  watching  the  horses  sent  to  pasture 
with  their  colts.  Up  by  St.  Gregory's  chapel,  where  the  Leine 
falls  over  the  cliffs,  I  left  the  animals  grazing  in  the  wide 
meadows,  flung  myself  down  in  a  field  of  gentian  and,  lying 
on  my  back,  gazed  upward  into  the  blue  sky  and  thought  it 
must  surely  open,  the  transparent  atmosphere  must  at  last  be 
pierced — as  the  bird  imagines,  when  it  dashes  its  head  against 
a  pane  of  glass — so  I  learned  to  think  of  God !  And  when  my 
brain  and  heart  grew  giddy,  as  if  I  were  destined  for .  some- 


SIGNS    AND    WONDERS.  117 

thing  better,  when  a  longing  overwhelmed  me  which  my  simple 
meditations  could  not  quell,  I  caught  one  of  my  young  horses 
by  the  mane,  swung  myself  on  its  bare  back,  and  swept  over- 
the  broad  plain,  feeling  myself  a  king." 

He  extended  his  arms,  and  now  his  face  was  suddenly  trans- 
formed— laughing,  bright,  joyous  as  the  Swedes  imagine  their 
Neck,  the  kind,  friendly  water  sprite  who  still  retains  some  of 
the  mythical  blood  of  the  Northern  god  of  Spring,  Freyer's 
namesake.  "  Ah,  Countess — that  was  poetry !  Who  could 
restore  those  days ;  that  childish  ignorance,  that  happy  hope, 
that  freedom  of  innocence  !" 

Again,  like  the  pictures  in  a  kaleidoscope,  his  expression 
changed  and  a  gloomy  melancholy  spread  its  veil  over  his 
brow.  "  Alas  ! — that  is  all  over  !  My  light-footed  colts  have 
become  weary,  clumsy  animals,  dragging  loaded  wains,  and  I 
— I  drag  no  less  wearily  the  burden  of  life." 

"  How  can  you  speak  so  at  the  moment  when,  yourself  a 
miracle,  you  are  revealing  to  men  the  miracles  of  God  ?  Is 
it  not  ungrateful !" 

"  Oh,  no,  Countess,  I  am  grateful !  But  I  do  not  so  sep- 
arate myself  from  my  part  that  I  could  be  happy  while  por- 
traying the  sufferings  of  my  Redeemer!  Do  you  imagine  that 
I  have  merely  learned  the  words  by  heart  ?  With  His  form, 
I  have  also  taken  His  cross  upon  me !  Since  that  time  all  my 
youth  has  fled  and  a  touch  of  pain  pervades  my  whole  life." 

"Then  you  are  His  true  follower — then  you  are  doing 
what  Simon  of  Cyrene  did!  And  do  you  believe  that  you 
ought  not  to  accept  even  the  smallest  portion  of  the  gratitude 
which  men  owe  to  the  Crucified  One  ?  Must  you  share  only 
His  sufferings,  not  His  joys,  the  joys  bestowed  by  the  love 
and  faith  of  moved  and  converted  souls  ?  Surely  if  you  are  so 
narrow-minded,  you  understand  neither  yourself  nor  the  love 
of  God,  Who  has  chosen  and  favored  you  from  among  millions 
to  renew  to  the  world  the  forgotten  message  of  salvation." 

"  Oh  God,  oh  God  ! — help  me  to  keep  my  humility — this 
is  too  much." 

Freyer  started  up  and  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  brow  as  if 
to  ward  off  an  invisible  crown  which  was  descending  upon  it. 

The  countess  also  rose  and  approached  him.  "  Freyer, 
the  suffering  you  endure  for  Christ's  sake,  I  share  with  you! 


IlS  ON    THE    CROSS. 

It  is  the  mystery  in  which  our  souls  found  each  other.  Pain 
is  eternal,  Freyer,  and  that  to  which  it  gives  birth  is  imperish- 
able !  What  do  we  feel  when  we  stand  before  a  painted  or 
sculptured  image  of  the  Crucified  One  ?  Pity,  the  most  agon- 
izing pity !  I  have  never  been  willing  to  believe  it — but  since 
yesterday  I  have  known  that  it  is  a  solace  to  the  believing  soul 
to  bestow  a  tender  embrace  upon  the  lifeless  image  and  to 
touch  the  artificial  wounds  with  ardent  lips.  What  must  it  be 
when  that  image  loves,  feels,  and  suffers !  When  it  speaks  to 
us  in  tones  that  thrill  the  inmost  heart  ?  When  we  see  it  quiver 
and  bleed  under  the  lashes  of  the  executioner — when  the  sweat 
of  agony  trickles  from  the  brow  and  real  tears  flow  from  the 
eyes  ?  I  ask,  what  must  this  be  to  us  ?  Imagine  yourself  for 
once  the  person  who  sees  this — and  then  judge  whether  it  is  not 
overpowering  ?  If  faith  in  the  stone  Christ  works  miracles — 
why  should  not  belief  in  the  living  one  do  far  more  ?  The  pious 
delusion  is  so  much  the  greater,  Z.K&  faith  brings  blessing." 

She  clasped  her  hands  upon  his  breast. 

"  Come,  image  of  mercy,  bend  down  to  me.  Let  me 
clasp  your  beloved  head  and  press  upon  your  tortured  brow 
the  kiss  of  reconciliation  for  all  penitent  humanity !"  Then, 
taking  his  face  between  her  hands,  she  lightly  pressed  a 
fervent  kiss  upon  the  brow  gently  inclined  toward  her. 
'•  Now  go  and  lament  that  you  have  robbed  your  Master  of 
this  kiss.  He  will  ask,  with  a  smile :  '  Do  you  know  for 
whom  that  kiss  was  meant — thee  or  me?'  And  you  will  be 
spared  an  answer,  for  when  you  raise  your  eyes  to  Him,  you 
will  find  it  imprinted  on  His  brow." 

She  paused,  overpowered  by  the  sacredness  of  the  moment. 
There  are  times  when  our  own  words  influence  us  like  some 
unknown  force,  because  they  express  something  which  has 
been  so  deeply  concealed  in  our  hearts  that  we  ourselves  were 
ignorant  of  its  existence.  This  was  the  case  now  with  the 
countess.  Freyer  stood  silently  with  clasped  hands,  as  if  in 
church. 

It  seemed  as  though  some  third  person  was  addressing 
them — an  invisible  person  whom  they  must  hold  their  very 
breath  to  understand. 

It  had  grown  late.  The  waning  moon  floated  high  above 
the  low  window  and  brightened  the  little  room  with  its  cheer- 


SIGNS    AND    WONDERS.  119 

ing  rays.  The  countess  nodded.  "  It  is  fulfilled !"  Then 
she  laid  her  hands  in  Freyer's :  "  For  the  first  time  since  my 
childhood  I  place  my  soul  in  the  keeping  of  a  human  being ! 
For  the  first  time  since  my  childhood,  I  strip  off  all  the  arro- 
gance of  reason,  for  a  higher  perception  is  hovering  above 
me,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  with  blissful  certainty !  Is  it 
love,  is  it  faith  ?  Whichever  it  may  be — God  dwells  in  both. 
And — if  philosophy  says :  '  I  think,  therefore  I  am,'  I  say :  '  I 
love,  therefore  I  believe  /'  " 

She  humbly  bowed  her  head.  "  And  therefore  I  beseech 
you.  Bless  me,  you  who  are  so  divinely  endowed,  with  the 
blessing  which  is  shed  upon  and  emanates  from  you !" 

Freyer  raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven  as  if  to  call  down  the 
benediction  she  implored,  and  there  was  such  power  in  the 
fervid  gaze  that  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  experienced  a 
thrill  almost  of  fear,  as  if  in  the  presence  of  some  supernatural 
being.  Then  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  her:  "In  the 
name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

A  tremor  of  foreboding  ran  through  her  limbs  as  if  the 
finger  of  God  had  marked  her  for  some  mysterious  destination 
and,  with  this  rune,  she  had  been  enrolled  in  the  pallid  host 
of  those  consecrated  by  sorrow  as  followers  of  the  deity. 

With  sweet  submission  she  clasped  the  hand  which  had 
just  imprinted  the  mournful  sign  on  brow  and  breast:  "In  the 
name  of  God,  if  only  you  are  near  me!"  Her  head  drooped  on 
her  bosom.  Some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  the  countess' 
brain  reeled  so  much  that  she  was  forced  to  cling  to  Freyer 
for  support. 

Josepha  timidly  asked  if  she  wanted  a  light. 

"Light!  Wash  dark?" 

"Very  well,"  she  answered  absently. 

Josepha  brought  the  lamp  and  enquired  when  the  countess 
desired  to  have  supper  ?  Freyer  took  his  hat  to  go. 

"I  shall  eat  nothing  more  to-night!"  said  the  countess  in 
a  curt,  impatient  tone,  and  Josepha  timidly  withdrew. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  covered  her  face  with  both 
hands  like  a  person  who  had  been  roused  from  a  beautiful 
dream  to  bare  reality. 

"Alas — that  there  must  be  other  people  in  the  world,  be- 
sides ourselves!"  She  sighed  heavily,  as  if  to  take  breath 


120  ON   THE    CROSS. 

after  the  terrible  fall.  Freyer,  hat  in  hand,  approached  her, 
calm  and  self-controlled.  Joseph  Freyer,  addressing  Countess 
Wildenau,  had  no  remembrance  of  what  the  penitent  soul  had 
just  confided  to  the  image  of  the  Redeemer. 

"  Allow  me  to  take  my  leave,  your  Highness,"  he  said  in 
a  gentle,  but  distant  tone. 

The  countess  understood  the  delicate  modesty  of  this  con- 
duct. "  Did  your  blue  gentians  teach  this  tact  ?  It  would 
seem  that  lonely  pastures,  whispering  hazel  copses,  and  dash- 
ing mountain  streams  are  better  educators  of  the  heart,  for 
those  who  understand  their  mysterious  language,  than  many 
of  our  schools." 

Freyer  was  silent  a  moment,  then  with  eyes  bent  on  the 
floor,  he  said :  "  May  I  ask  when  your  Highness  intends  to 
leave  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Must  I  go,  Freyer  ?  " 

"Your  Highness—" 

"  Here  is  a  telegram  which  announces  my  arrival  at  home 
to-morrow.  Tell  me,  Freyer,  shall  I  send  it?  " 

"  How  can  /  decide — "  stammered  Freyer  in  confusion. 

"  I  wish  to  know  whether  you — yon,  Freyer,  would  like  to 
keep  me  here  ?  " 

"  But  Good  Heavens,  your  Highness — is  it  seemly  for  me 
to  express  such  a  wish  ?  Of  course  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure 
to  have  you  remain — but  how  could  I  seek  to  influence  you  in 
any  way  ?  " 

"  Mere  phrases ! "  said  the  countess,  disappointed  and 
offended.  Then,  if  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  you  whether 
I  go  or  stay,  I  will  send  the  telegram."  She  went  to  the  table 
to  add  something. 

Suddenly  he  stood  close  beside  her,  with  a  beseeching, 
tearful  glance — and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  paper. 

"  No— do  not  send  it." 

"  Not  send  it  ?  "  asked  Madeleine  in  blissful  expectation. 
"  Not  send  it — then  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

His  lips  moved  several  times,  as  if  he  could  not  utter  the 
word — but  at  last  it  escaped  from  his  closed  heart,  and  with 
an  indescribable  smile  he  murmured :  "  Stay !  " 

Ah!  A  low  cry  of  exultation  escaped  the  countess,  and 
the  telegram  lay  torn  upon  the  table.  Then  with  a  trembling 


IN   THE    EARLY   MORNING.  121 

hand  she  wrote  the  second,  which  she  requested  him  to  send 
at  once.  It  contained  only  the  words :  "  Am  ill— cannot 
come !  " 

He  was  still  standing  at  her  side,  and  she  gave  it  to  him  to 
read. 

"  Is  it  true  ?  "  he  asked,  after  glancing  at  it,  looking  at  her 
with  timid,  sportive  reproach.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  she  said  caressingly,  laying  her  hand,  as  if  she 
felt  a  pang,  upon  her  heart.  "  1  am  !  " 

He  clasped  both  in  his  own  and  asked  softly  in  a  tone 
which  sent  a  thrill  of  happiness  through  every  vein :  "How 
shall  we  cure  this  illness  ?  " 

She  felt  his  warm  breath  on  her  waving  hair — and  dared 
not  stir. 

Then,  with  sudden  resolution  he  shook  off  the  thrall: 
"  Good-night,  Countess !  " 

The  next  moment  he  was  hurrying  past  the  window. 

Ludwig,  wondering  at  his  friend's  hasty  departure,  entered. 

"  What  has  happened,  Countess  ?  " 

"  Signs  and  wonders  have  happened,"  she  said,  extending 
her  arms  as  if  transfigured. 


CHAPTER  X. 


IN   THE    EARLY    MORNING. 

"  Rise  Mary !  Night  is  darkening  and  the  wintry  storms 
are  raging — but  be  comforted,  in  the  early  morning,  in  the 
Spring  garden,  you  will  see  me  again." 

The  countess  woke  from  a  short  slumber  as  if  some  one 
had  uttered  the  words  aloud.  She  glanced  around  the  dusky 
room,  it  was  still  early,  scarcely  a  glimmer  of  light  pierced 
through  the  chinks  of  the  shutters.  She  tried  to  sleep  again, 
but  in  vain.  The  words  constantly  rang  in  her  ears :  "  In  the 
early  morning  you  will  see  me  again."  Now  the  chinks  in  the 
shutters  grew  brighter,  and  one  golden  arrow  after  another 
darted  through.  The  countess  threw  aside  the  coverlet  and 
started  up.  Why  should  she  torment  herself  with  trying  to 
court  sleep  ?  Outside  a  dewy  garden  offered  its  temptations. 


122  ON   THE    CROSS. 

True,  it  was  an  autumn,  not  a  spring  garden.  Yet  for  her 
it  was  Spring — it  had  dawned  in  her  heart — the  first  spring- 
time of  her  life. 

Up  and  away  !  Should  she  wake  Josepha,  who  slept 
above  her?  Nay,  no  sound,  no  word  must  disturb  this  sacred 
morning  stillness. 

She  dressed  and,  half  an  hour  later,  glided  lightly,  unseen, 
into  the  garden. 

The  clock  in  the  church  steeple  was  striking  six.  A  fresh 
autumn  breeze  swept  like  a  band  of  jubilant  sprites  through 
the  tops  of  the  ancient  trees,  then  rushing  downward,  tossed 
her  silken  hair  as  though  it  would  fain  bear  away  the  filmy 
strands  to  some  envious  wood-nymph  to  weave  nets  from  it  for 
the  poor  mortals  who  might  lose  themselves  in  her  domain. 

On  the  ground  at  her  feet,  too,  the  grasses  and  shrubs 
swayed  and  rustled  as  if  little  gnomes  were  holding  high  revel 
there.  A  strange  mood  pervaded  all  nature. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  looked  upward ;  there  were  huge 
cloud-shapes  in  the  sky,  but  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  in  a 
broad  expanse  of  blue.  The  bells  were  ringing  for  early  mass. 
The  countess  clasped  her  hands.  Everything  was  silent  and 
lonely,  no  eye  beheld,  no  ear  heard  her,  save  the  golden  orb 
above.  The  birds  carolling  their  matin  songs,  the  flowers 
whose  cups  were  filled  with  morning  dew,  the  buzzing,  hum- 
ming bees — all  were  celebrating  the  great  matins  of  awakening 
nature — and  she,  whose  heart  was  full  of  the  morning  dew  of 
the  first  genuine  feeling  of  her  life,  was  she  alone  not  to  join  in 
the  chorus  of  gratitude  of  refreshed  creation  ? 

There  is  a  language  whose  key  we  do  not  possess.  It  is_ 
the  Sanscrit  ojf  Nature.^and,^of  the  human  soul  when-it  com- 
munes with  the  deity.  The  countess  sank  silently  down  on 
tKeoewy  grass.  She  did  not  pray  in  set  words — there  was  an 
interchange  of  thought,  her  heart  spoke  to  God,  and  reason 
knew  not  what  it  confided  to  Him. 

In  the  early  morning  in  the  spring  garden  "  thou  wilt  see 
me  again  ! "  There  again  spoke  the  voice  which  had  roused 
her  so  early !  The  countess  raised  her  head — but  still  re- 
mained kneeling  as  if  spell-bound.  Before  her  stood  the 
Promised  One. 


IN   THE    EARLY    MORNING.  123 

She  could  say  nothing  save  the  word  uttered  by  Mary 
Magdalene  :  "  Master!  " 

A  loving  soul  can  never  be  surprised  by  the  object  of  its 
love  because  it  expects  him  always  and  everywhere,  yet  it  ap- 
pears a  miracle  when  its  expectation  becomes  fulfilment. 

"  Have  I  interrupted  your  prayer  ?  I  did  not  see  you  be- 
cause you  were  kneeling  " — he  said,  gently. 

"  You  interrupt  my  prayer — you  who  first  taught  me  to 
pray?  "she  asked,  holding  out  her  hand  that  he  might  help 
her  rise.  "  Tell  me,  how  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  sleep — some  yearning  urged  me  to  your  pres- 
ence— to  your  garden." 

He  gently  raised  her,  while  she  gazed  into  his  eyes  as  if 
enraptured.  "  Master !  "  she  repeated.  "  Oh,  my  friend,  I  was 
like  Mary  Magdalene,  my  Lord  had  been  taken  away  and  I  knew 
not  where  they  had  laid  Him.  Now  I  know,  He  was  buried 
in  my  own  heart  and  the  world  had  rolled  the  stone  before  it, 
but  yesterday — yesterday  He  rose  and  the  stone  was  cast  aside. 
So  some  impulse  urged  me  into  the  garden  early  this  morning 
to  seek  Him  and  lo — He  stands  before  me  as  He  promised." 

"  Do  not  speak  so ! — I  am  well  aware  that  the  words  are 
not  meant  for  me,  but  if  you  associate  Christ  so  closely  with 
my  personality,  I  fear  that  you  will  confound  Him  with  me, 
and  that  His  image  will  be  dimmed,  if  anything  should  ever 
shadow  mine !  I  beseech  you,  Countess,  by  all  that  is  sacred 
— learn  to  separate  Him  from  me — or  you  have  not  grasped 
the  true  nature  of  Christ,  and  my  work  will  be  evil !  "  He 
stood  before  her  with  hand  uplifted  in  prophecy,  the  outlines 
of  his  powerful  form  were  sharply  relieved  against  the  dewy, 
shining  morning  air.  Purity,  chastity,  the  loftiest,  most  in- 
spired earnestness  were  expressed  in  his  whole  bearing,  all  the 
dignity  of  the  soul  and  of  primeval,  divinely  created  human 
nature. 

Must  not  she  have  that  feeling  of  adoration  which  always 
seizes  upon  us  whenever,  no  matter  where  it  may  be,  the  deity 
is  revealed  in  His  creations  ?  No,  she  did  not  understand 
what  he  meant,  she  only  understood  that  there  was  something 
divine  in  him,  and  that  the  perception  of  this  nearness  to  God 
filled  her  with  a  happiness  never  known  before.  Joseph 
Freyer  was  the  guarantee  of  the  existence  of  a  God  in  whom 


124  ON   THE   CROSS. 

she  had  lost  faith — why  should  she  imagine  Him  in  any  other 
form  than  the  one  which  she  had  found  Him  again  ?  "  Thou 
shalt  make  thyself  no  graven  image !  "  Must  this  Puritani- 
cally misunderstood  literal  statement  destroy  man's  dearest 
possession,  the  symbol  of  the  reality  ?  Then  the  works  of 
Raphael,  Titian,  and  Rubens  must  be  effaced,  and  the  millions 
of  miracles  of  faith,  wrought  in  the  souls  of  the  human  race 
by  the  representations  of  the  divine  nature. 

"  Oh  blessed  image-worship,  now  I  understand  your  mean- 
ing ! "  she  joyously  exclaimed.  "  Whoever  reviles  you  has 
never  felt  the  ardent  desire  of  the  weak  human  heart,  the  cap- 
tive of  the  senses,  for  contact  with  the  unapproachable,  the 
sight  of  the  face  of  the  ever  concealed  yet  ever  felt  divinity. 
Here,  here  stands  the  most  perfect  image  Heaven  and 
earth  ever  created,  and  must  I  not  kneel  before  it,  clasp  it  with 
all  the  tendrils  of  my  aspiring  soul  ?  No !  No  one  ought, 
no  one  can  prevent  me." 

Half  defiantly,  half  imploringly,  the  words  poured  from 
her  inmost  soul  like  molten  lava.  "  Let  all  misunderstand  me 
— sziveyvu,  Freyer!  You,  by  whom  God  wrought  the  miracle, 
ought  not  to  be  narrow-minded !  You  ought  not  to  destroy 
it  for  me,  you  least  of  all !  "  Then  she  pleaded,  appealed  to 
him  :  "  Let  saints,  let  glorified  spirits  grasp  only  the  essence 
and  dispense  with  the  earthly  pledge — I  cannot !  I  am  a 
type  of  the  millions  who  live  snared  by  the  weaknesses,  the 
ideas,  the  pleasures  of  the  world  of  sense;  do  you  suddenly 
require  of  me  the  abstract  purity  and  spiritualization  of  re- 
ligious thought,  to  which  only  the  highest  innate  or  required 
perfection  leads?  Be  forbearing  to  me — God  has  various 
ways  of  drawing  the  rebellious  to  Him!  To  the  soul  which  is 
capable  of  material  ideas  only,  He  gives  revelations  by  the 
senses  until,  through  pain  and  sorrow,  it  has  worked  its  way 
upward  to  intellectual  ones.  And  until  I  can  behold  the  real 
God  in  His  shadowy  sphere,  I  shall  cling  lovingly  and  de- 
voutly to  His  image." 

She  sank  on  her  kness  before  him  in  passionate  entreaty. 
"  Do  not  destroy  it  for  me,  rather  aid  the  pious  delusion  which 
is  to  save  me  !  Bear  patiently  with  the  woe  of  a  soul  seeking 
its  salvation,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God  !  "  She  leaned  her 


IN    THE    EARLY    MORNING.  125 

brow  against  the,  hand  which  hung  by  his  side  and  was  silent 
from  excess  of  emotion. 

The  tall,  stalwart  man  stood  trembling  as  Abraham  may 
have  stood  before  the  thicket  when  God  stayed  his  uplifted 
arm  and  cried  in  tender  love:  "  I  will  not  accept  thy  sacrifice." 

He  had  a  presentiment  that  the  victim  would  be  snatched 
from  him  also,  if  he  was  too  stern,  and  all  the  floods  of  his 
heart  burst  forth,  all  the  flood  gates  of  love  and  pity  opened. 
Bending  down,  he  held  her  head  in  a  close,  warm  cla^p  be- 
tween both  hands,  and  touched  her  forehead  with  quivering 
lips. 

A  low  cry  of  unutterable  bliss,  and  she  sank  upon  his 
breast ;  the  next  instant  she  lifted  her  warm  rosy  lips  to  his. 

But  he  drew  back  a  step  in  agonizing  conflict ;  "  No, 
Countess,  for  Heavens's  sake  no,  it  must  not  be." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked,  her  face  blanching. 

"  Let  me  remain  worthy  of  the  miracle  God  has  wrought 
upon  you  through  me.  If  I  am  to  represent  Christ  to  you,  I 
must  at  least  feel  and  think  as  He  did,  so  far  as  my  human 
weakness  will  permit,  or  everything  will  be  a  deception." 

The  countess  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  Ah,  no 
one  can  utter  such  words  who  knows  aught  of  love  and  long- 
ing !  "  she  moaned  between  her  set  teeth  in  bitter  scorn. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Freyer,  and  the  tone  in 
which  he  spoke  pierced  her  heart  like  a  cry  of  pain.  Drawing 
her  hands  from  her  face,  he  forced  her  to  meet  his  glowing 
eyes:  "Look  at  me  and  see  whether  the  tears  which  now 
course  down  my  cheeks  express  no  love  and  longing.  Look 
at  yourself,  your  sweet,  pouting  lips,  your  sparkling  eyes,  all 
your  radiant  charms,  and  ask  yourself  whether  a  man  into 
whose  arms  such  a  woman  falls  can  remain  unmoved  ?  When 
you  have  answered  these  questions,  say  to  yourself:  '  How 
that  man  must  love  his  Saviour,  if  he  buys  with  such  sacrifices 
the  right  to  wear  His  crown  of  thorns!'  Perhaps  you  will 
then  better  understand  what  I  said  just  now  of  the  spirit  and 
nature  of  Christ." 

Countess  Madeleine  made  no  reply,  but  wringing  her  hands, 
bent  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"  Have  I  wounded  you,  Countess  ?  " 

"  Yes,  unto  death.      But  it  is  best  so.     I  understand  you. 


126  ON   THE    CROSS. 

If  I  am  to  love  you  as  Christ,  you  must  be  Christ.  And  the 
more  severe  you  are,  the  higher  you  raise  me !  Alas — the 
pain  is  keen!"  She  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart  as 
though  to  close  a  wound,  a  pathetic  expression  of  resignation 
rested  on  her  pallid  face. 

"  Oh,  Countess,  do  not  make  my  task  too  hard  for  me. 
I  am  but  mortal !  Oh,  how  can  I  see  you  suffer  ?  /can  re- 
nounce everything,  but  to  \wx\.you  in  doing  so — is  beyond  my 
power." 

"  Do  not  say  you  in  this  solemn  hour !  Call  me  by  my 
name,  I  would  fain  hear  it  once  from  your  lips ! " 

"  And  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Maria  Magdalena." 

"  No.  You  call  yourself  so  under  the  impression  of  the 
Passion  Play." 

"  I  was  christened  Maria  Magdalena  von  Prankenberg." 

"  Maria  Magdalena,"  he  repeated,  his  eyes  resting  upon 
her  with  deep  emotion  as  she  stood  before  him,  she  whose 
bearing  was  usually  so  haughty,  now  humble,  silent,  submissive, 
like  the  Penitent  before  the  Master.  Suddenly,  overpowered 
by  his  feelings,  he  extended  his  arms:  " My  Magdalena." 

"  My  Master,  my  salvation,"  she  sobbed,  throwing  herself 
upon  his  breast.  He  clasped  her  with  a  divine  gesture  of  love 
in  his  embrace. 

"  Oh,  God  she  has  flown  hither  like  a  frightened  dove  and 
nestled  in  my  breast.  Poor  dove,  I  will  conceal  and  protect 
you  from  every  rude  breeze,  from  every  base  touch  of  the 
world  !  Build  your  nest  in  my  heart — here  you  shall  rest  in 
jthe  peace  of  God !  "  He  pressed  her  head  close  to  his  heart. 
I  "  How  you  tremble,  dove !  May  I  call  you  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  forever ! " 

"  Are  you  wearied  by  your  long  flight  ?  Poor  dove !  Have 
you  fluttered  hither  to  me  across  the  wild  surges  of  the  world, 
to  bring  the  olive  branch,  the  token  of  reconciliation,  which 
makes  my  peace  with  things  temporal  and  eternal  ?  And  must 
I  now  thrust  you  from  me,  saying  as  Christ  said  to  Magdalene ! 
'Touch  me  not;  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  to  my  Father?' 
Shall  I  drive  you  forth  again  into  this  chaos,  that  the  faithful 
wings  which  bore  you  on  the  right  way  may  droop  exhausted 
till  you  perish  in  the  billows  of  the  world  ?  "  He  clasped  her 


IN    THE    EARLY    MORNING.  127 

still  more  closely :  "  Oh,  God !  This  cannot  be  Thy  will ! 
But  I  think  I  understand  Thee,  Omnipotent  One — 'I  hou  hast 
entrusted  this  soul  to  me,  and  I  will  guard  it  for  Thee  loyally  /" 

It  was  an  hour  of  sacred  happiness.  Her  head  rested  on 
his  breast.  Not  a  leaf  stirred  on  the  boughs.  The  dense 
shadow  of  the  beeches  surrounded  them,  separating  them  from 
the  world  as  if  the  universe  contained  naught  save  this  one 
spot  of  earth,  and  the  dream  of  this  moment. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  she  whispered,  "only  one,  and  I  will 
suffer,  atone,  and  purchase  this  hour  of  Heaven  by  any  sacri- 
fice :  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  his  whole  soul  in  his  eyes.  "  Must  I  tell 
you  so  ?  "  he  asked  mournfully.  "  What  can  it  serve  you  to 
put  your  hand  into  the  wound  in  my  heart,  and  see  how  deep 
it  is  ?  You  cannot  cure  it.  Have  you  not  felt,  from  the  first 
moment,  that  some  irresistible  spell  drew  me  to  you,  forcing 
me,  the  recluse,  to  come  to  you  again  and  yet  again  ?  What 
was  it  that  drove  me  from  my  couch  early  this  morning  and 
sent  me  hither  to  your  closed  house  and  deserted  garden  ? 
What  was  it  save  love  ?  " 

"  Ever  since  four  o'clock  I  have  wandered  restlessly  about 
with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  shutters  of  your  room,  till  the  im- 
petuous longing  of  my  soul  roused  you  and  drew  you  from 
your  warm  bed  into  the  chill  morning  air.  Come,  you  are 
shivering,  let  me  warm  you,  nestle  in  my  arms  and  feel  the 
glow  of  my  heart." 

He  sat  down  on  the  bench  under  the  arbor,  and — he  knew 
not  how  it  happened — she  clung  to  him  like  a  child  and  he 
could  not  repulse  her,  he  could  not !  She  stroked  his  long  black 
locks  with  her  little  soft  hand  and  rested  her  head  against  his 
cheek — she  was  the  very  embodiment  of  innocence,  simplicity, 
girlish  artlessness.  And  in  low  murmurs  she  poured  out  her 
whole  heart  to  him  as  a  child  confides  in  its  father.  Without 
reserve,  she  told  him  all  the  bitter  sorrow  of  her  whole  life — 
a  life  which  had  never  known  either  love  or  happiness !  Having 
lost  her  mother  when  a  mere  child,  she  had  been  educated  by 
a  cold-hearted  governess  and  a  pessimistic  tutor.  Her  father, 
wholly  absorbed  by  the  whirl  of  fashionable  life,  had  cared 
nothing  for  her,  and  when  scarcely  out  of  the  school  room  had 
compelled  her  to  marry  a  rich  old  man  with  whom  for  eight 


128  ON    THE    CROSS. 

years  existence  was  one  long  torment.  Then,  in  mortal  fear 
lest  her  listener  would  not  forgive  her,  yet  faithful  to  the  truth, 
she  confessed  also  how  her  eager  soul,  yearning  for  love,  had 
striven  to  find  some  compensation,  rebelling  against  a  law 
which  recognized  the  utmost  immorality  as  moral,  till  sin  itself 
seemed  virtue  compared  to  the  wrong  of  such  a  bond.  But 
as  the  forbidden  draught  did  not  quench  her  thirst,  a  presenti- 
ment came  to  her  that  she  was  longing  for  that  spring  of 
which  Christ  said :  "  But  whosoever  drinketh  of  the  water 
that  I  shall  give  him  shall  never  thirst !  "  This  had  brought 
her  here,  and  here  had  been  opened  the  purifying,  redeeming 
fount  of  life  and  love. 

"  Now  you  know  all !  My  soul  lies  open  before  you ! 
By  the  self  denial  with  which  I  risked  my  highest  blessing, 
yourself,  and  revealed  my  whole  past  life  to  you,  you  can  judge 
whether  I  have  been  ennobled  by  your  love."  Slipping  from 
his  embrace,  she  sank  on  her  knees  before  him :  "  Now  judge 
the  Penitent — I  will  accept  from  your  hand  whatever  fate  you 
may  impose.  But  one  thing  I  beseech  you  to  do,  whatever 
you  may  ask  of  me:  remember  Christ" 

Freyer  raised  his  large  dark  eyes.  "I  do  remember  Him." 
Bending  toward  her  with  infinite  gentleness,  he  lifted  her  in 
his  strong  arms :  "Come,  Magdalena!  I  cannot  condemn 
you,"  he  said,  and  the  Penitent  again  rested  in  the  embrace  of 
compassion. 

"There  are  drops  of  cold  perspiration  on  your  brow,"  said 
Madeleine  after  a  long  silence.  "  Are  you  suffering  ?  " 

"I  suffer  gladly.    Do  not  heed  it !  "  he  said  with  effort. 

Then  a  glance  of  loving  inquiry  searched  his  inmost  soul. 
"  Do  you  regret  the  kiss  which  you  just  denied  me  ?  "  she  asked, 
scarcely  above  her  breath,  but  the  whispered  question  made 
him  wince  as  though  a  probe  had  entered  seme  hidden  wound. 
She  felt  it,  and  some  irresistible  impulse  urged  her  to  again 
raise  her  pouting  lips.  He  saw  their  rosy  curves  close  to  his 
own,  and  gently  covered  them  with  his  hand.  "  Be  true !  Let 
us  be  loyal  to  each  other.  Do  not  make  my  lot  harder  than 
it  is  already !  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  unchaining." 
Starting  up,  he  clasped  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  eagerly 
drinking  in  long  draughts  of  the  invigorating  morning  air.  The 
gloomy  fire  which  had  just  glowed  in  his  eyes  changed  again 


IN   THE    F.ARLY    MORNING.  1 29 

to  a  pure,  calni  light.  "  This  is  so  beautiful,  do  not  disturb 
it,"  he  said  gently,  kissing  her  on  the  forehead.  "  My  child, 
my  dove !  Our  love  shall  remain  pure  and  sacred — shall  k 
not  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  she  murmured  in  reverent  submission,  for  now  he 
was  once  more  the  image  of  Christ,  and  she  bent  silently  to 
kiss  his  hand.  He  did  not  resist,  for  he  felt  that  it  was  a  com- 
fort to  her.  Then  he  disappeared,  calm,  lofty,  like  one  who 
has  stripped  off  the  fetters  of  this  world. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  was  left  alone.  Pressing  her 
forehead  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  a  rude  but  firm  support, 
she  had  sunk  back  upon  the  bench,  closing  her  eyes.  Her 
heart  was  almost  bursting  with  its  seething  tide  of  emotion. 
Tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks.  God  had  given  her  so  much, 
that  she  almost  swooned  under  this  wealth  of  happiness.  Only 
a  touch  of  pain  could  balance  it,  or  it  would  be  too  great  for 
mortal  strength  to  bear.  This  pain  was  an  unsatisfied  yearning, 
a  vague  feeling  that  her  destiny  could  only  be  fulfilled  through 
this  love,  and  that  she  was  still  so  far  from  possessing  it.  God 
has  ordained  that  the  human  heart  can  bear  only  a  certain 
measure  of  happiness  and,  when  this  limit  is  passed,  joy  be- 
comes pain  because  we  are  not  to  experience  here  on  earth 
bliss  which  belongs  to  a  higher  stage  of  development.  That 
is  why  the  greatest  joy  brings  tears,  that  is  why,  amid  the  ut- 
most love,  we  believe  that  we  have  never  loved  enough,  that 
is  why,  amid  the  excess  of  enjoyment,  we  are  consumed  with 
the  desire  for  a  rapture  of  which  this  is  but  a  foretaste,  that  is 
why  every  pleasure  teaches  us  to  yearn  for  a  new  and  greater 
one,  so  that  we  may  never  be  satisfied,  but  continually  suffer. 

There  is  but  one  power  which,  with  strong  hand,  maintains 
the  balance,  teaches  us  to  be  sparing  of  joy,  helps  us  endure 
pain,  dams  all  the  streams  of  desire  and  sends  them  back  to 
toil  and  bear  fruit  within  the  soul :  asceticism !  It  cuts  with 
firm  touch  the  luxuriant  shoots  from  the  tree  of  life,  that  its 
strength  may  concentrate  within  the  marrow  of  the  trunk  and 
urge  the  growth  upward.  Asceticism !  The  bugbear  of  all  the 
grown  up  children  of  this  world.  Wherever  it  appears  human 
hearts  are  in  a  tumult  as  if  death  were  at  hand.  Like  flying 
ants  bearing  away  their  eggs  to  a  place  of  safety,  the  disturbed 
consciences  of  worldlings  anxiously  strive  to  hide  their  secret 


130  ON   THE   CROSS. 

desires  and  pleasures  from  the  dreaded  foe!  But  whoever 
dares  to  meet  its  eyes  sees  that  it  is  not  the  bugbear  which  the 
apostles  of  reason  and  nature  would  fain  represent  it,  no  flesh- 
less,  bloodless  shadow  which  strives  to  destroy  the  natural 
bond  between  the  Creator  and  creation,  but  a  being  with  a 
glowing  heart,  five  wounds,  and  a  brow  bedewed  with  drops 
of  sweat.  Its  office  is  stern  and  gloomy,  its  labor  severe  and 
thankless,  for  it  has  to  struggle  violently  with  rebellious  souls 
,and,  save  for  the  aid  of  the  army  of  priests  who  have  conse- 
} crated  themselves  to  its  service,  it  would  succumb  in  the 
'ceaseless  struggle  with  materialism  which  is  ever  developing 
into  higher  consciousness !  Yet  whoever  has  once  given  him- 
self to  her  service  finds  her  a  lofty,  earnest,  yet  gracious  god- 
dess !  She  is  the  support  of  the  feeble,  the  comforter  of  the 
unhappy  and  the  solitary,  the  angel  of  the  self-sacrificing. 
Whoever  feels  her  hand  upon  a  wounded,  quivering  heart, 
knows  that  she  is  the  benefactress,  not  the  taskmistress  of 
humanity. 

Nor  does  she  always  appear  as  the  gloomy  mourner  beside 
the  corpse  of  murdered  joys.  Sometimes  roses  wreath  the 
thorn-scarred  brow,  and  she  becomes  the  priestess  of  love. 
When  the  world  and  its  self-created  duties  rudely  sunders  two 
hearts  which  God  created  for  each  other  and  leaves  them  to 
waste  away  in  mortal  anguish,  she  is  the  compassionate  one. 
With  sanctifying  power  she  raises  the  struggling  souls  above 
the  dividing  barrier  of  temporal  things,  teaches  them  to  tram- 
ple the  earth  under  their  feet  and  unites  them  with  an  eternal 
bond  in  the  purer  sphere  of  intellectual  love.  Thus  she  unites 
what  morality  severs.  Morality  alone  is  harsh,  not  asceticism. 
Morality  pitlessly  prescribes  her  laws,  unheeding  the  weakness 
of  poor  human  hearts,  asceticism  helps  them  to  submit  to 
them.  Morality  demands  obedience,  asceticism  teaches  it. 
Morality  punishes,  asceticism  corrects.  The  former  judges  by 
appearances,  the  latter  by  the  reality.  Morality  has  only  the 
reward  of  the  world,  asceticism  of  Heaven  /  Morality  made 
Mary  Magdalene  an  outcast,  asceticism  led  her  to  the  Lord 
and  obtained  His  mercy  for  her. 

And  as  the  beautiful  Magdalene  of  the  present  day  sat  with 
closed  eyes,  letting  her  thoughts  be  swept  along  upon  the 
wildly  foaming  waves  of  her  hot  blood,  she  fancied  that  the 


MARY   AND    MAGDALENE.  -        13! 

bugbear  once  so  dreaded  because  she  had  known  it  only  under 
the  guise  of  tlte  fulfilment  of  base,  loathsome  duty  was  ap- 
proaching. But  this  time  the  form  appeared  in  its  pure  beauty, 
bent  tenderly  over  her,  a  pallid  shape  of  light,  and  gazed  at 
her  with  the  eyes  of  a  friend !  Low,  mysterious  words,  in  bod- 
ing mournful  tones,  were  murmured  in  her  ears.  As  she  lis- 
tened, her  tears  flowed  more  gently,  and  with  childlike  humil- 
ity she  clasped  the  sublime  vision  and  hid  her  face  on  its 
breast.  Then  she  felt  upon  her  brow  a  chill  kiss,  like  a  breath 
from  the  icy  regions  of  eternal  peace,  and  the  apparition  van- 
ished. But  as  the  last  words  of  something  heard  in  a  dream 
often  echo  in  the  ears  of  the  person  awaking,  the  countess  as 
she  raised  her  closed  lids,  remembered  nothing  save  the  three 
words :  "  On  the  cross ! "  . 


CHAPTER  XI. 


MARY   AND    MAGDALENE. 

"  On  the  cross  " — was  it  a  consolation  or  a  menace  ?  Who 
could  decipher  this  rune  ?  It  was  like  all  the  sayings  of  oracles. 
History  would  explain  its  meaning,  and  when  this  was  done,  it 
would  be  too  late,  for  it  would  be  fulfilled  !  The  countess  still 
sat  motionless  in  the  old  arbor.  Her  destiny  had  commenced 
on  the  cross,  that  was  certain.  Hitherto  she  had  been  a  blind 
blank,  driven  like  thousands  by  the  wheel  of  chance.  She  had 
first  entered  into  communication  with  the  systematic  order  of 
divine  thought  in  the  hour  when  she  saw  Joseph  Freyer  on  the 
cross.  Will  her  fate  end  as  it  began,  upon  the  cross  ?  An  icy 
chill  ran  through  her  veins.  She  loved  the  cross,  since  it  bore 
the  man  whom  she  loved,  but  what  farther  influence  was  it  to 
have  upon  her  life !  And  what  had  pallid  asceticism  to  do 
with  her  ?  What  was  the  source  of  all  these  oppressive,  mel- 
ancholy forebodings,  which  could  only  be  justified  if  a  conflict 
with  grave  duties  or  constraining  circumstances  was  impend- 
ing. Why  should  they  not  love  each  other,  both  were  free  ! 
But — she  not  only  desired  to  love  him,  she  wished  to  be  his, 
to  claim  him  hers.  Every  loving  woman  longs  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  destiny  in  the  man  she  loves.  How  was  she  to 


132  ON   THE   CROSS. 

obtain  this  fulfilment  ?  What  is  born  in  morality,  cannot  exist 
in  immorality.  He  knew  this,  felt  it,  and  it  was  the  cause  of 
his  sternness.  This  was  the  source  of  her  grief,  the  visit  of  the 
mysterious  comforter,  and  the  warning  of  the  cross.  But  must 
the  brightest  happiness,  the  beautiful  bud  of  love  wither  on  the 
cross,  because  it  grew  there  ?  Was  there  no  other  sacred  soil 
where  it  might  thrive  and  develop  to  the  most  perfect  flower? 
Was  there  no  wedding  altar,  no  sacrament  of  marriage  ?  She 
drew  back  as  if  she  suddenly  stood  on  the  verge  of  a  yawning 
abyss.  Her  brain  reeled !  A  throng  of  jeering  spectres  seemed 
grinning  at  her,  watching  with  malicious  delight  the  leap  the 
Countess  Wildenau  was  about  to  take,  down  to  a  peasant! 
She  involuntarily  glanced  around  as  if  some  one  might  have 
been  listening  to  the  thought.  But  all  was  still  and  silent ;  her 
secret,  thank  Heaven,  was  still  her  own. 

"  Eternal  Providence,  what  fate  hast  thou  in  store  for  me  ?" 
her  questioning  gaze  asked  the  blue  sky.  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  this  extraordinary  conflict?  She  loved  Freyer  as  the 
God  whom  he  represented,  yet  he  could  be  hers  only  as 
a  man ;  she  must  either  resign  him  or  the  divine  illusion.  She 
felt  that  the  instant  which  made  him  hers  as  a  man  would 
break  the  spell,  and  she  would  no  longer  love  him !  The  God 
was  too  far  above  her  to  be  drawn  down  to  her  level,  the  man 
was  too  low  to  be  raised  to  it.  Was  ever  mortal  woman  thus 
placed  between  two  alternatives  and  told:  "  Choose!  "  The 
golden  shower  fell  into  Danae's  lap,  the  swan  flew  to  Leda, 
the  bull  bore  Europa  away,  and  Jupiter  did  not  ask :  "  In 
what  form  do  you  wish  me  to  appear  ?  "  But  to  the  higher  con- 
sciousness of  the  Christian  woman  the  whole  responsibility  of 
free  choice  is  given.  And  what  is  the  reward  of  this  torturing 
dilemma  ?  If  she  chooses  the  God,  she  must  resign  the  man, 
if  she  chooses  the  man  she  must  sacrifice  the  God.  Which 
can  she  renounce,  which  relinquish  ?  She  could  not  decide, 
and  wrung  her  hands  in  agony.  Why  must  this  terrible 
discord  be  hers?  Had  she  ventured  too  boldly  into  the 
sphere  of  divine  life  that,  as  if  in  mockery,  she  was  given  the 
choice  between  the  immortal  and  the  mortal  in  order,  in  the 
struggle  between  the  two,  to  recognize  the  full  extent  of  her 
weakness  ? 

It  seemed  so !     As  if  utterly  wearied  by  the  sore  conflict, 


MARY    AND    MAGDALENE.  133 

she  hid  her  face*  in  her  hands  and  called  to  her  aid  the  wan 
comforter  who  had  just  approached  so  tenderly.  But  in  vain, 
the  revelations  were  silent,  the  deity  would  not  aid  her ! 

"You  ought  to  go  up  the  mountain  to-day,  Countess," 
called  a  resonant  voice.  This  time  no  pale  phantom,  no  grim- 
acing spectre  stood  before  her,  but  her  friend  Ludwig,  who 
gazed  into  her  eyes  with  questioning  sympathy.  She  clasped 
his  hand. 

"  Whenever  you  approach  me,  my  friend,  I  can  never  help 
receiving  you  with  a  '  Thank  Heaven  !'  You  are  one  of  those 
whose  very  presence  is  beneficial  to  the  sufferer,  as  the  physi- 
cian's entrance  often  suffices  to  soothe  the  patient  without 
medicines." 

Ludwig  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  the  countess.  "  My 
sisters  and  Josepha  are  greatly  troubled  because  you  have  not 
yet  ordered  breakfast,  and  no  one  ventured  to  ask.  So  /  un- 
dertook the  dangerous  commission,  and  your  Highness  can 
see  yonder  at  the  door  how  admiringly  my  sisters'  eyes  are 
following  me." 

The  countess  laughed.  "  Dear  me,  am  I  so  dreaded  a 
tyrant  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  you  are  a  little  inclined  to  be  one,"  replied 
Ludwig,  quizzically  ;  "  now  and  then  a  sharp  point  juts  from 
a  hidden  coronet.  I  felt  one  myself  yesterday  ?  " 

"  When— how  ?  " 

"  May  I  remind  you  of  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  When  you  poured  all  your  wrath  upon  poor  Freyer,  and 
resolved  to  leave  Ammergau  at  once.  Then  I  was  puzzled  for 
a  moment." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  the  countess  with  charming  embarrass- 
ment. "  Then  I  was  not  mistaken — I  perceived  it,  and  there- 
fore delayed  sending  the  telegram.  People  ought  not  to  take 
such  passing  ebullitions  so  seriously." 

"  Yes,  Countess,  but  that  '  passing  ebullition,'  might  have 
made  poor  Freyer  miserable  for  a  long  time.  Pray,  have 
more  patience  and  tolerance  in  future.  Natures  so  powerful 
and  superior  as  yours  fail  to  exert  a  destructive  influence  upon 
a  circle  of  simple  folk  like  ourselves,  only  when  they  show  a 
corresponding  degree  of  generosity,  which  suffices  to  excuse  all 


134  ON    THE    CROSS. 

our  awkwardnesses.  Otherwise  you  will  some  day  thrust  us 
down  from  the  height  to  which  you  have  raised  us,  and  that 
would  be  far  worse  than  if  we  had  never  been  withdrawn  from 
our  modest  sphere." 

"  You  are  right !  "  said  the  countess,  thoughtfully. 

"  My  fear  is  that  we  are  capable  only  of  rousing  your  in- 
terest, not  fixing  it.  We  are  on  too  unequal  a  footing,  we  feel 
and  understand  your  spell,  but  are  too  simple  and  inex- 
perienced not  to  be  dazzled  and  confused  by  its  ever  varying 
phantasmagoria.  Therefore,  Countess,  you  are  as  great  a 
source  of  peril  as  of  happiness." 

"  Hm  !  I  understand.  But  suppose  that  for  the  sake  of 
you  people  of  Ammergau  I  desired  to  return  to  plainness — 
and  simplicity." 

"  You  cannot,  Countess,  you  are  too  young." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  That  would  be  the  very  reason  I 
should  be  able  to  do  so." 

"  No,  for  you  have  passed  the  age  when  people  easily  ac- 
commodate themselves  to  new  circumstances.  Too  many  of 
the  shoots  of  luxury  have  gained  a  generous  growth  ;  they  will 
assert  their  claims  and  cannot  be  forced  back  into  the  seeds 
whence  they  came.  Not  until  they  have  lived  out  their  time 
in  the  world  and  died  can  they  form  the  soil  for  a  new  and,  if 
you  desire  it,  more  primitive  and  simple  development ! — Any 
premature  attempt  of  this  kind  will  last  only  a  few  moments 
and  even  these  would  be  a  delusion.  But  what  to  you  would 
be  passing  moments  of  disappointment,  to  those  who  shared 
them  would  be — lifelong  destiny.  Our  clumsy  natures  cannot 
make  these  graceful  oscillations  from  one  feeling  to  another, 
we  stake  all  on  one  and  lose  it,  if  we  are  deceived." 

The  countess  looked  earnestly  at  him. 

"  You  are  a  stern  monitor,  Ludwig  Gross !  "  she  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  Do  you  fear  that  I  might  play  a  game  with 
one  of  you  ?  " 

"An  unconscious  one,  Countess — as  the  waves  toy  with  a 
drifting  boat." 

"  Well,  that  would  at  least  be  no  cruel  one  !  "  replied  the 
lady,  smiling. 

"  Any  sport,  Countess,  would  be  cruel,  which  tore  one  of 
these  calm  souls  from  its  quiet  haven  here  and  set  it  adrift 


MARY    AND    MAGDALENE.  135 

rudderless  on  the*  high  sea  of  passion."  He  rose.  "  Pardon 
me — 1  am  taking  too  much  liberty." 

"  Not  more  than  my  friendship  gave  you  a  right  to  say. 
You  brought  your  friend  to  me  ;  you  are  right  to  warn  me  if 
you  imagine  I  should  heedlessly  throw  the  priceless  gift  away  ! 
But,  Ludwig  Gross  " — she  took  his  hand — "do  you  know  that 
I  prize  it  so  highly  that  I  should  not  consider  myself  \.OQ  great 
a  recompense  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  just  found  me  in 
a  sore  struggle  over  tin's  problem  ?  " 

Ludwig  Gross  drew  back  a  step  as  if  he  could  not  grasp 
the  full  meaning  of  the  words.  So  momentous  did  they  seem 
that  he  turned  pale.  "  Is  it  possible?  "  he  stammered. 

A  tremulous  gesture  of  the  hand  warned  him  to  say  no 
more.  "  I  don't  know — whether  it  is  possible!  But  that  I 
could  even  think  of  it,  will  enable  you  to  imagine  what  value 
your  gift  possesses  for  me.  Not  a  word,  I  beseech  you.  Give 
me  time — and  trust  me.  So  many  marvels  have  been  wrought 
in  me  during  the  past  few  days,  that  I  give  myself  up  to  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  and  allow  myself  to  be  led  by  an  ever- 
ruling  Providence — I  shall  be  dealt  with  kindly." 

Ludwig,  deeply  moved,  kissed  his  companion's  hand. 
"  Countess,  the  impulse  which  moves  you  at  this  moment 
must  unconsciously  thrill  every  heart  in  Ammergau — as  the 
sleeping  child  feels,  even  in  its  dreams,  when  a  good  fairy 
approaches  its  cradle.  And  it  is  indeed  so ;  for,  in  you  con- 
scious culture  approaches  unconscious  nature — it  is  a  sublime 
moment,  when  the  highest  culture,  like  the  fairy  beside  the 
cradle,  listens  to  the  breathing  of  humanity,  where  completion 
approaches  the  source  of  being,  and  drinks  from  it  fresh 
vigor." 

"Yes,"  cried  the  countess,  enthusiastically :  "  That  is  it. 
You  understand  me  perfectly.  All  civilization  must  gain  new 
strength  from  the  fountain  of  nature  or  its  sources  of  life  would 
become  dry — for  they  perpetually  derive  their  nounshment 
from  that  inexhaustible  maternal  bosom.  Where  this  is  not 
accomplished  in  individual  lives,  the  primeval  element,  thus 
disowned,  avenges  itself  in  great  social  revolutions,  catas- 
trophes which  form  epochs  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  is 
only  a  pity  that  in  such  phases  of  violent  renewal  the  labor  of 
whole  epochs  of  civilization  is  lost.  Therefore  souls  in  har- 


136  ON    THE    CROSS. 

mony  with  their  age  must  try  to  reconcile  peacfully  what, 
taken  collectively,  assumes  the  proportions  of  contrasts  destruct- 
ive to  the  universe." 

"  And  where  could  we  find  this  reconciliation,  save  in 
love  ?  "  cried  Ludwig,  enthusiastically. 

"  You  express  it  exactly  :  that  is  the  perception  toward 
which  minds  are  more  and  more  impelled,  and  whose  outlines 
in  art  and  science  appear  more  and  more  distinctly.  That  is 
the  secret  of  the  influence  of  Parsifal,  which  extends  far  be- 
yond the  domain  of  art  and,  in  another  province,  the  success 
of  the  Passion  Play  !  To  one  it  revealed  itself  under  one 
guise,  to  another  under  another.  To  me  it  was  here  that  the 
very  source  of  love  appeared.  And  as  you,  who  revealed  it  to 
me,  are  pervaded  by  the  great  lesson — I  will  test  it  first  upon 
you.  Brother!  Friend!  I  will  aid  you  in  every  strait  and 
calamity,  and  you  shall  see  that  I  exercise  love,  not  only  in 
words,  but  that  the  power  working  within  me  will  accomplish 
deeds  also."  She  clasped  her  hands  imploringly :  "  And  if  I 
love  one  of  you  more  than  the  others,  do  not  blame  me.  The 
nearer  to  the  focus  of  light,  the  stronger  the  heat !  He,  that 
one,  is  surely  the  focus  of  the  great  light  which,  emanating 
from  you,  illumines  the  whole  world.  I  am  so  near  him — 
could  I  remain  cold  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Countess — now  I  will  cast  aside  all  fears  for  my 
friend.  In  Heaven's  name,  take  him.  Even  if  he  consumes 
under  your  thrall — pain,  too,  is  godlike,  and  to  suffer  for  you 
is  a  grand,  a  lofty  destiny,  a  thousand-fold  fairer  and  better 
than  the  dull  repose  of  an  every  day  happiness." 

"  Good  heavens,  when  have  I  ever  heard  such  language  !  " 
exclaimed  the  countess,  gazing  admiringly  at  the  modest  little 
man,  whose  cheeks  were  glowing  with  the  flush  of  the  loftiest 
feeling.  He  stood  before  her  in  his  plain  working  clothes,  his 
clear-cut  profile  uplifted,  his  eyes  raised  with  a  searching  ga/e 
as  if  pursuing  the  vanishing  traces  of  a  lofty,  unattainable  goal. 

She  rose  :  "  There  is  not  a  day,  not  an  hour  here,  which 
does  not  bring  me  something  grand.  Woe  befall  me  if  I  do 
not  show  myself  worthy  of  the  obligation  your  friendship  im- 
poses, I  should  be  more  guilty  than  those  to  whom  the  sum- 
mons of  the  ideal  has  never  come ;  who  have  never  stood  face 
to  face  with  men  like  you." 


MARY    AND    MAGDALENE.  137 

i 

Ludwig  quietly  held  out  his  hand  and  clasped  hers  closely 
in  her  own.  The  piercing  glance  of  his  artist-eye  seemed  to 
read  the  inmost  depths  of  her  soul. 

After  a  long  pause  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  interrupted 
the  silence :  "  There  stands  your  sister  in  great  concern  over 
my  bodily  welfare  !  Well  then,  let  us  remember  that  we  are 
human — unfortunately !  Will  you  breakfast  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  I  have  already  breakfasted,"  said  Ludwig, 
modestly,  motioning  to  Sephi  to  be  ready. 

"  Then  at  least  bear  me  company."  Taking  his  arm,  she 
went  with  him  to  the  arbor  covered  with  a  wild  grape-vine 
where  the  table  was  spread.  She  sat  down  to  the  simple  meal, 
while  her  companion  served  her  with  so  much  tact  and  grace 
that  she  could  not  help  thinking  involuntarily  :  "  And  these 
are  peasants  ?  What  ought  we  aristocrats  to  be  ?  "  Then, 
as  i;  in  mockery  of  this  reflection,  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
with  his  jacket  flung  over  his  arm  and  a  scythe  in  his  hand 
passed  down  the  street  by  the  fence.  "  Freyer ! "  exclaimed 
the  countess,  her  face  aflame  :  "  The  Messiah  with  a  scythe  ?  " 

Freyer  stopped.  "  You  called  me,  Countess  ?  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  with  that  implement,  Herr  Freyer  ?  " 
she  asked,  coldly,  in  evident  embarrassment  . 

"  To  mow  my  field !  "  he  answered  quietly.  "  I  have  just 
time,  and  I  want  to  try  to  harvest  a  little  hay.  Almost  every- 
thing goes  to  ruin  during  the  Passion  !  " 

"  But  why  do  you  cut  it  yourself" 

"  Because  I  have  no  servant,  Countess ! "  said  Freyer, 
smiling,  raised  his  hat  with  the  dignified  gesture  characteristic 
of  him,  and  moved  on  as  firmly  and  proudly  as  though  the 
business  he  was  pursuing  was  worthy  of  a  king.  And  so  it 
was,  when  he  pursued  it.  A  second  blush  crimsoned  Made- 
leine von  Wildenau's  fair  forehead.  But  this  time  it  was  be- 
cause she  had  been  ashamed  of  him  for  a  moment.  "  Poor 
Freyer !  His  little  patrimony  was  a  patch  of  ground,  and  should 
it  be  accounted  a  degradation  that  he  must  receive  the  scanty 
gift  of  nature  directly  from  her  hand,  or  rather  win  it  blade 
by  blade  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  ?  "  So  she  reasoned. 

Then  he  glanced  back  at  her  and  she  felt  that  the  look, 
outshining  the  sun,  had  illuminated  her  whole  nature.  The 


138  ON   THE    CROSS. 

fiery  greeting  of  a  radiant  soul !     She  waved   her  white  hand 
to  him,  and  he  again  raised  his  hat. 

"  Where  is  Freyer's  field  ?  " 

"Not  far  from  us,  just  outside  the  village.  Would  you 
like  to  go  there  ?  " 

"  No,  it  would  trouble  me.  I  should  not  like  to  see  him 
toiling  for  his  daily  bread.  Men  such  as  he  ought  not  to  find 
it  necessary,  and  it  must  end  in  some  way.  God  sent  me 
here  to  equalize  the  injustice  of  fate." 

"  You  cannot  accomplish  this  with  Freyer,  Countess,  he 
would  have  been  a  rich  man  long  ago,  if  he  had  been  willing 
to  accept  anything.  What  do  you  imagine  lie  has  had  offered 
by  ladies  who,  from  sacred  and  selfish  motives,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  his  personation  of  the  Christ,  were  ready  to  make 
any  sacrifice  ?  If  ever  poverty  was  an  honor  to  a  man,  it  is 
to  Freyer,  for  he  might  have  been  in  very  different  circum- 
stances and  instead  is  content  with  the  little  property  received 
from  his  father,  a  bit  of  woodland,  a  field,  and  a  miserable 
little  hut.  To  keep  the  nobility  and  freedom  of  his  soul,  he 
toils  like  a  servant  and  cares  for  house,  field,  and  wood  with 
his  own  hands." 

"Just  see  him  now,  Countess,"  he  added,  "You  have 
never  beheld  any  man  look  more  aristocratic  while  at  work 
than  he,  though  he  only  wields  a  scythe." 

"  You  are  a  loyal  friend,  Ludwig  Gross,"  she  answered. 
"  And  an  eloquent  advocate !  Come,  take  me  to  him." 

She  hurried  into  the  house,  returning  with  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  on  her  head,  which  made  her  face  look  as  blooming  and 
youthful  as  a  girl's.  Long  undressed  kid  gloves  covered  her 
arms  under  the  half  flowing  sleeves  of  her  gown,  and  she 
carried  over  her  shoulder  a  scarlet  sunshade  which  surrounded 
her  whole  figure  with  a  roseate  glow.  There  was  a  warmth,  a 
tempting  charm  in  her  appearance  like  the  velvety  bloom  of  a 
ripe  peach.  Ludwig  Gross  gazed  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  You  are— -fatally  beautiful !  "  he  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
shaking  his  head  mournfully,  as  we  do  when  we  see  some  in- 
evitable disaster  approaching  a  friend.  "  No  one  ought  to  be 
so  beautiful,"  he  added,  disapprovingly. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  laughed  merrily.  "  Oh !  you  com- 
ical friend,  who  offers  with  so  sour  a  visage  the  most  flattering 


MARY   AND    MAGDALENE.  139 

compliments  possible.  Our  young  society  men  might  take 
lessons  from  you !  Pardon  me  for  laughing,"  she  said  apolo- 
getically, as  Ludwig's  face  darkened.  "  But  it  came  so  unex- 
pectedly, I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  compliment  here,"  and 
in  spite  of  herself,  she  laughed  again,  the  compliment  was  too 
irresistible. 

Her  companion  was  deeply  offended.  He  saw  in  this  out- 
break of  mirth  a  levity  which  outraged  his  holiest  feelings. 
These  were  "  the  graceful  oscillations  from  one  mood  to  an- 
other," as  he  had  termed  it  that  day,  which  he  had  so  dreaded 
for  his  friend,  and  which  now  perplexed  his  own  judgment ! 

A  moment  was  sufficient  to  reveal  this  to  the  countess,  in 
the  next  she  had  regained  her  self-control  and  with  it  the 
power  of  adapting  herself  to  the  earnestness  of  her  friend's 
mood. 

He  was  walking  silently  at  her  side  with  a  heavy  heart. 
There  had  been  something  in  that  laugh  which  he  could  not 
fathom,  readily  as  he  grasped  any  touch  of  humor.  To  the 
earnest  woman  he  had  seen  that  morning,  he  would  have  con- 
fided his  friend  in  the  belief  that  he  was  fulfilling  a  lofty  des- 
tiny ;  to  the  laughing,  coquettish  woman  of  the  world,  he 
grudged  him;  Joseph  Freyer  was  far  too  good  for  such  a  fate. 

They  had  walked  on,  each  absorbed  in  thought,  leaving 
the  village  behind,  into  the  open  country.  Few  people  were  at 
work,  for  during  the  Passion  there  is  rarely  time  to  till  the 
fields. 

"  There  he  is !  "  Ludwig  pointed  to  a  man  swinging 
his  scythe  with  a  powerful  arm.  The  countess  had  dreaded 
the  sight,  yet  now  stood  watching  full  of  admiration,  for  these 
movements  were  as  graceful  as  his  gestures.  The  natural 
symmetry  which  was  one  of  his  characteristic  qualities  rendered 
him  a  picturesque  figure  even  here,  while  toiling  in  the  fields. 
His  arms  described  rhythmically  returning  circles  so  smoothly, 
the  poise  of  the  elastic  body,  bending  slightly  forward,  was  so 
noble,  and  he  performed  the  labor  so  easily  that  it  seemed 
like  a  graceful  gymnastic  exercise  for  the  training  of  the  mar- 
vellous limbs.  The  countess  gazed  at  him  a  long  time,  un- 
seen. 

A  woman's  figure,  bearing  a  jug,  approached  from  the 
opposite  side  of  the  meadow  and  offered  Freyer  a  drink. 


140  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  I  have  brought  some  milk.  You  must  be  thirsty,  it  is 
growing  warm,"  the  countess  heard  her  say.  She  was  a  gra- 
cious looking  woman,  clad  in  simple  country  garb,  evidently 
somewhat  older  than  Freyer,  but  with  a  noble,  virginal  bear- 
ing and  features  of  classic  regularity.  Every  movement  was 
dignified,  and  her  expression  was  calm  and  full  of  kindly 
earnestness. 

"  I  ought  to  know  her,"  said  the  countess  in  a  strangely 
sharp  tone. 

"  Certainly.  She  is  the  Mother  of  God  in  the  Passion 
Play,  Anastasia  Gross,  the  burgomaster's  sister." 

"  Yes,  the  Mary ! "  said  the  countess,  and  again  she  re- 
membered how  the  two,  mother  and  son,  had  remained  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms  far  longer  than  seemed  to  her  necessary. 
What  unknown  pang  was  this  which  now  pierced  her  heart  ? 
"  I  suppose  they  are  betrothed  ?  "  she  asked,  with  quickened 
breath. 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  We  think  she  loves  him,  but  no  one 
knows  Freyer's  feelings  !  "  said  Ludwig. 

"  I  don't  understand,  since  you  are  such  intimate  friends, 
why  you  should  not  know  !  " 

"  I  believe,  Countess,  if  we  people  of  Ammergau  have 
any  good  quality,  it  is  discretion.  We  do  not  ask  even  the 
most  intimate  friend  anything  which  he  does  not  confide  to  us." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  lowered  her  eyes  in  confusion. 
After  a  short  struggle  she  said  with  deadlv  sternness  and 
bitterness:  "  You  were  right  this  morning — the  man  must  be 
left  in  his  sphere.  Come,  let  us  go  back  !  "  A  glance  from 
Ludwig's  eyes  pierced  her  to  the  heart.  She  turned  back 
toward  the  village.  But  Freyer  had  already  seen  her  and  over- 
took her  with  the  speed  of  thought. 

"  Why,  Countess,  you  here  ?  And " — his  eyes,  fierce 
with  pain,  rested  enquiringly  on  hers  as  he  perceived  their 
cold  expression,  "  and  you  were  going  to  leave  me  without 
a  word  of  greeting  ?  Were  you  ashamed  to  speak  to  the  poor 
peasant  who  was  mowing  his  grass?  Or  did  my  dress  shock 
you  ?  "  He  was  so  perfectly  artless  that  he  did  not  even  in- 
terpret her  indignation  correctly,  but  attributed  it  to  an  en- 
tirely different  cause.  This  did  not  escape  the  keen  intuition 
of  a  woman  so  thoroughly  versed  in  affairs  of  the  heart.  But 


MARY   AND    MAGDALENE.  -       141 

when  a  drop  of  the  venom  of  jealousy  has  entered  the  blood, 
it  requires  some  time  ere  it  is  absorbed,  even  though  the  cause 
of  the  mischief  has  long  been  removed.  This  is  an  old  ex- 
perience, as  well  as  the  fact  that,  this  process  once  over,  re* 
pentance  is  all  the  sweeter,  love  the  more  passionate.  But  the 
poor  simple-hearted  peasant,  in  his  artlessness,  could  not  per- 
ceive all  this.  He  was  merely  ashamed  of  standing  before 
the  countess  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  hurriedly  endeavored, 
with  trembling  fingers,  to  fasten  his  collar  which  he  had 
opened  while  at  work,  baring  his  throat  and  chest.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  hot  blood  could  be  heard  pulsing  against  the  walls  of 
his  arched  chest,  like  the  low  murmur  of  the  sea.  The  labor, 
the  increasing  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  excitement  of  the 
countess'  presence  had  quickened  the  usually  calm  flow  of  his 
blood  till  it  fairly  seethed  in  his  veins,  glowing  in  roseate  life 
through  the  ascetic  pallor  of  the  skin,  while  the  swelling  veins 
stood  forth  in  a  thousand  beautiful  waving  lines  like  springs 
welling  from  white  stone.  Both  stood  steeped  in  the  fervid 
warmth,  one  absorbing,  the  other  reflecting  it. 

But  with  the  cruelty  of  love,  which  seeks  to  measure  the 
strength  of  responsive  passion  by  the  very  pain  it  has  the 
power  to  inflict,  the  beautiful  woman  curbed  the  fire  kindled 
in  her  own  pulses  and  said  carelessly :  "  We  have  interrupted 
your  t£te-a-tete,  we  will  make  amends  by  retiring." 

"  Countess!  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  look  which  seemed  to 
say :  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  so  unjust !  My  Mother, 
Mary,  was  with  me,  she  brought  her  son  something  to  refresh 
him  at  his  work,  why  should  you  interrupt  us  ?  " 

The  simple  words,  which  to  her  had  so  subtle  a  double 
meaning,  explained  everything  and  Madeleine  von  Wildenau 
felt,  with  deep  embarrassment,  that  he  understood  her  and 
that  she  must  appear  very  petty  in  his  eyes. 

Ludwig  Gross  drew  out  his  watch.  "  Excuse  me,  it  is 
nine  o'clock;  I  must  go  to  my  drawing- school."  He  bowed 
and  left  them,  without  shaking  hands  with  the  countess  as 
usual.  She  felt  it  as  a  rebuke,  and  a  voice  in  her  heart  said : 
"  You  must  become  a  far  better  woman  ere  you  are  worthy  of 
this  man." 

"  Would  not  you  like  to  know  Mary  ?  May  I  introduce 
her  to  you  ?  "  asked  Freyer,  when  they  were  alone. 


142  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  necessary." 

"  Why,  how  can  you  love  the  son  and  not  care  for  the 
mother  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  your  mother,"  replied  the  countess. 

"  And  /  am  not  the  Christ.  Why  does  the  illusion  affect 
me,  and  not  Mary  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  perfect  in  you,  but  not  in  her." 

"Then  there  is  still  more  reason  to  know  her,  that  her 
personality  may  complete  what  her  personation  lacked." 

The  countess  cast  a  gloomy  look  at  the  tall  maiden,  who 
meanwhile  had  taken  the  scythe  and  was  doing  Freyer's  work. 

"  She  seems  to  be  very  devoted  to  you,"  she  said  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven,  we  are  loyal  friends." 

"  I  suppose  you  call  each  other  thou." 

"  Yes,  all  the  Ammergau  people  do  that,  when  they  have 
been  schoolmates." 

"  That  is  a  strange  custom.  Is  it  practised  by  those  in  both 
high  and  low  stations  ?" 

"  There  are  neither  high  nor  low  stations  among  us.  We 
all  stand  on  the  same  footing,  Countess.  The  fact  that  one  is 
richer,  another  poorer,  that  one  can  do  more  for  education  and 
external  appearances  than  his  neighbor  makes  no  difference 
with  us  and,  if  it  did,  it  would  be  an  honor  for  me  to  be  per- 
mitted to  address  Anastasia  with  the  familiar  thou,  for  she  and 
the  whole  Gross  family  are  far  above  me.  Even  in  your  sense 
of  the  word,  Countess,  the  burgomaster  is  an  aristocrat,  no 
child  of  nature  like  myself,  but  a  man  familiar  with  social 
usages  and  thoroughly  well  educated." 

"  Well,  then,"  cried  the  countess,  "  why  don't  you  marry 
the  lady,  if  she  possesses  such  superior  advantages  ?  " 

"  Marry  ?  "  Freyer  started  back  as  if  instead  of  Madeleine's 
beautiful  face  he  had  suddenly  beheld  some  hideous  vision, 
"  I  have  never  thought  of  it! " 

"Why  not?" 

"The  Christ  wed  Mary?  The  son  the  mother?  No, 
though  we  are  not  what  we  represent,  that  would  be  impossible. 
I  have  become  so  accustomed  to  regard  her  as  my  mother 
that  it  would  seem  to  me  a  profanation." 

"  But  next  winter,  when  the  Play  is  over,  it  will  be  different." 


MARY    AND    MAGDALENE.  143 

"  And  you  say  this  to  me,  Countess ;  you,  after  this  morn- 
ing?" cried  Freyer,  with  a  trembling  voice.  "Are  you  in 
earnest  ?" 

"  Certainly.  I  cannot  expect  you,  for  my  sake,  to  neglect 
older  claims  upon  your  heart !  " 

"  Countess,  if  I  had  older  claims,  would  I  have  spoken  to 
you  as  I  did  to-day,  would  the  events  have  occurred  which 
happened  to-day?  Can  you  believe  such  things  of  me?  You 
are  silent  ?  Well,  Countess,  that  may  be  the  custom  in  your 
circle,  but  not  in  mine." 

"  Forgive  me,  Freyer !  "  stammered  the  lady,  turning  pale. 

"  Freyer  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  if  the  sun  daz- 
zled him,  in  order  to  conceal  his  rising  tears. 

"  For  what  are  you  looking  ?  "  asked  the  countess,  who 
thought  he  was  trying  to  see  more  distinctly. 

He  turned  his  face,  eloquent  with  pain,  full  toward  her. 
"  I  was  looking  to  see  where  my  dove  had  flown,  I  can  no 
longer  find  her.  Or  was  it  all  a  dream  ?  " 

"  Freyer ! "  cried  the  countess,  utterly  overwhelmed,  slip- 
ping her  hand  through  his  arm  and  resting  her  head  without 
regard  for  possible  spectators  on  his  heaving  breast.  "  Joseph, 
your  dove  has  not  flown  away,  she  is  here,  take  her  to  your 
heart  again  and  keep  her  forever,  forever,  if  you  wish." 

"Take  care,  Countess,"  said  Freyer,  warningly,  "there  are 
people  moving  in  all  directions." 

She  raised  her  head.  "  Will  it  cause  you  any  harm  ?  "  she 
asked,  abashed. 

"  Not  me,  but  you.  I  have  no  one  to  question  me  and 
could  only  be  proud  of  your  tokens  of  favor,  but  consider  what 
would  be  said  in  your  own  circle,  if  it  were  rumored  that  you 
had  rested  your  head  on  a  peasant's  breast." 

"  You  are  no  peasant,  you  are  an  artist." 

"  In  your  eyes,  but  not  in  those  of  the  world.  Even  though 
we  do  passably  well  in  wood-carving  and  in  the  Passion  Play, 
so  long  as  we  are  so  poor  that  we  are  compelled  to  till  our 
fields  ourselves,  and  bring  the  wood  for  our  carvings  from  the 
forest  with  our  own  hands,  we  shall  be  ranked  as  peasants,  and 
no  one  will  believe  that  we  are  anything  else.  You  will  be 
blamed  for  having  associated  with  such  uncultured  people." 

"  Oh,  I  will  answer  for  that  before  the  whole  world." 


144  °N  THE  CROSS. 

"  That  would  avail  little,  my  beloved  one,  Heaven  forbid 
that  I  should  ever  so  far  forget  myself  as  to  boast  of  your  love 
before  others,  or  permit  you  to  do  anything  which  they  would 
misjudge.  God  alone  understands  what  we  are  to  each  other, 
and  therefore  it  must  remain  hidden  in  His  bosom  where  no 
profane  eye  can  desecrate  it." 

The  countess  clung  closer  to  him  in  silent  admiration.  She 
remembered  so  many  annoyances  caused  by  the  indiscretions 
due  to  the  vanity  of  men  whom  she  had  favored,  that  this 
modest  delicacy  seemed  so  chivalrous  and  lofty  that  she  would 
fain  have  fallen  at  his  feet. 

"  Dove,  have  I  found  you  again?  "  he  said,  gazing  into  her 
eyes.  "  My  sweet,  naughty  dove !  You  will  never  more  wound 
and  wrong  me  so.  I  feel  that  you  might  break  my  heart." 
And  pressing  her  arm  lightly  to  his  side,  he  raised  her  hand 
to  his  burning  lips. 

A  glow  of  happiness  filled  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  whole 
being  as  she  heard  the  stifled,  passionate  murmur  of  love. 
And  as,  with  every  sunbeam,  the  centifolia  blooms  more  fully, 
revealing  a  new  beauty  with  each  opening  petal,  so  too  did 
the  soul  of  the  woman  thus  illumined  by  the  divine  ray  ot 
true  love. 

"  Come,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  take  me  to  the  kind  creature 
who  so  tenderly  ministers  to  you,  perhaps  suffers  for  you. 
I  now  feel  drawn  toward  her  and  will  love  her  for  your  sake 
as  your  mother,  Mary." 

"Ah,  my  child,  that  is  worthy  of  you  !  I  knew  that  you 
were  generous  and  noble !  Come,  my  Magdalene,  I  will  lead 
you  to  Mary." 

They  walked  rapidly  to  the  field  where  Anastasia  was 
busily  working.  The  latter,  seeing  the  stranger  approach,  let 
down  the  skirt  she  had  lifted  and  adjusted  her  dress  a  little, 
but  she  received  the  countess  without  the  least  embarrassment 
and  cordially  extended  her  hand.  Her  bearing  also  had  a 
touch  of  condescension,  which  the  great  lady  especially 
noticed.  Anastasia  gazed  so  calmly  and  earnestly  at  her  that 
she  lowered  her  eyes  as  if  unable  to  bear  the  look  of  this  serene 
soul.  The  smoothly  brushed  brown  hair,  the  soft  indistinctly 
marked  brows,  the  purity  of  the  features,  and  the  virginal  dig- 
nity throned  on  the  noble  forehead  harmonized  with  the  ideal 


MARY    AND    MAGDALENE.  145 

of  the  Queen  of  Heaven  which  the  countess  had  failed  to  grasp 
in  the  Passion  Play.  She  was  beautiful,  faultless  from  head  to 
foot,  yet  there  was  nothing  in  her  appearance  which  could 
arouse  the  least  feeling  of  jealousy.  There  was  such  spiritu- 
ality in  her  whole  person — something — the  countess  could  not 
describe  it  in  any  other  way — so  expressive  of  the  sober  sense 
of  age,  that  the  beautiful  woman  was  ashamed  of  her  suspicion. 
She  now  understood  what  Freyer  meant  when  he  spoke  of  the 
maternal  relation  existing  between  Anastasia  and  himself. 
She  was  the  true  Madonna,  to  whom  all  eyes  would  be  lifted 
devoutly,  reverently,  yet  whom  no  man  would  desire  to  press 
to  his  heart.  She  was  probably  not  much  older  than  the 
countess,  two  or  three  years  at  most,  but  compared  with  her 
the  great  lady,  so  thoroughly  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world, 
was  but  an  immature,  impetuous  child.  The  countess  felt  this 
with  the  secret  satisfaction  which  it  affords  every  woman  to 
perceive  that  she  is  younger  than  another,  and  it  helped  her 
to  endure  the  superiority  which  Anastasia's  lofty  calmness 
maintained  over  her.  Nay,  she  even  accepted  the  inferior 
place  with  a  coquettish  artlessness  which  made  her  appear  all 
the  more  youthful.  Yet  at  the  very  moment  she  adopted  the 
childish  manner,  she  secretly  felt  its  reality.  She  was  standing 
in  the  presence  of  the  Mother  of  God.  Womanly  nature  had 
never  possessed  any  charm  for  her,  she  had  never  compre- 
hended it  in  any  form.  She  had  never  admired  any  of 
Raphael's  Madonnas,  not  even  the  Sistine.  A  woman  in- 
terested her  only  as  the  object  of  a  man's  love  for  which  she 
might  envy  her,  the  contrary  character,  the  ascetic  beauty  of  an 
Immaculate  was  wholly  outside  of  her  sphere.  Now,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  she  was  interested  in  a  personality  of  this 
type,  because  she  suddenly  realized  that  the  Virgin  was  also 
the  Mother  of  the  Saviour.  And  as  her  love  for  the  Christ 
was  first  awakened  by  her  love  for  Joseph  Freyer,  her  rever- 
ence for  Mary  was  first  felt  when  she  thought  of  her  as  his 
mother !  Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  so  poor  in  the  treasures  of 
the  heart,  the  woman  who  had  never  been  a  mother,  suddenly 
felt— even  while  in  the  act  of  playing  with  practised  coquetry 
the  part  of  childlike  ignorance — under  the  influence  of  the  man 
she  loved,  the  reality  in  the  farce  and  her  heart  opened  to  the 
sacred,  mysterious  bond  between  the  mother  and  the  child, 

10 


146  ON   THE    CROSS. 

Thus,  hour  by  hour,  she  grew  out  of  the  captivity  of  the  world 
and  the  senses,  gently  supported  and  elevated  by  the  might  of 
that  love  which  reconciles  earth  and  heaven. 

She  held  out  one  hand  to  Anastasia,  the  other  to  Freyer. 
"  I,  too,  would  fain  know  the  dear  mother  of  our  Christ !  "  she 
said,  with  that  sweet,  submissive  grace  which  the  moment  had 
taught  her.  Freyer's  eyes  rested  approvingly  upon  her.  She 
felt  as  if  wings  were  growing  on  her  shoulders,  she  felt  that  she 
was  beautiful,  good,  and  beloved;  earth  could  give  no  more. 

Anastasia  watched  the  agitated  woman  with  the  kindly, 
searching  gaze  of  a  Sister  of  Charity.  Indeed,  her  whole  ap- 
pearance recalled  that  of  one  of  these  ministering  spirits, 
resigned  without  sentimentality;  gentle,  yet  energetic;  modest, 
yet  impressive. 

"  I  felt  a  great — "  the  countess  was  about  to  say  "admira- 
tion," but  this  was  not  true,  she  admired  her  now  for  the  first 
time !  She  stopped  abruptly  in  the  midst  of  her  sentence,  she 
could  utter  no  stereotyped  compliments  at  this  moment.  With 
quiet  dignity,  like  a  princess  giving  audience,  Anastasia  came 
to  her  assistance,  by  skilfully  filling  up  the  pause :  "  So  this  is 
your  first  visit  to  Ammergau  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  have  doubtless  been  very  much  impressed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  who  could  remain  cold,  while  witnessing  such  a 
spectacle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  is  not  our  Christ  perfect  ?  "  said  Anastasia,  smiling 
proudly.  "  He  costs  people  many  tears.  But  even  I  cannot 
help  weeping,  and  I  have  played  it  with  him  thirty  times." 
She  passed  her  hand  across  his  brow  with  a  tender,  maternal 
caress,  as  if  she  wished  to  console  him  for  all  his  sufferings. 
"  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  we  saw  the  Redeemer  Himself?  " 

The  countess  watched  her  with  increasing  sympathy. 
"  You  have  a  beautiful  soul !  Your  friend  was  right,  people 
should  know  you  to  receive  the  full  impression  of  Mary." 

"Yes,  I  play  it  too  badly,"  replied  Anastasia,  whose  native 
modesty  prevented  her  recognition  of  the  flattery  conveyed  in 
the  countess'  words. 

"  No — badly  is  not  the  word.  But  the  delicate  shadings 
of  the  feminine  nature  are  lost  in  the  vast  space,"  the  other 
explained. 


MARY   AND    MAGDALENE.  -  147 

"  It  may  be  so,"  replied  Anastasia,  simply.  "  But  that  is  of 
no  importance  $  no  matter  how  we  others  might  play — he  would 
sustain  the  whole." 

"  And  your  brother,  Anastasia,  and  all  the  rest — do  you 
forget  them?"  said  Freyer,  rebukingly. 

"  Yes,  dear  Anastasia."  The  countess  took  Freyer's  hand. 
"  I  have  given  my  soul  into  the  keeping  of  this  Christ — but 
your  brother's  performance  is  also  a  masterpiece !  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  are  unjust  to  him.  And  also  to  Pilate,  whom 
I  admired,  the  apostles  and  high-priests." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  don't  know  how  the  others  act — "  said 
Mary  with  an  honesty  that  was  fairly  sublime.  "  I  see  only 
him,  and  when  he  is  not  on  the  stage  I  care  nothing  for  the 
rest  of  the  performance.  It  is  because  I  am  his  mother:  to  a 
mother  the  son  is  beyond  everything  else,"  she  added,  calmly. 

The  countess  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  a  woman  could  love  in  this  way  ?  Yet  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it.  Had  even  a  shadow  of  longing  to  be  united  to 
the  man  she  loved  rested  on  the  soul  of  this  girl,  she  could  not 
have  had  this  crystalline  transparency  and  absolute  freedom 
from  embarrassment. 

These  Madonnas  are  happy  beings !  she  thought,  yet  she 
did  not  envy  this  calm  peace. 

Drawing  off  her  long  glove  with  much  difficulty,  she  took 
a  ring  from  her  finger.  "  Please  accept  this  from  me  as  a  token 
of  the  secret  bond  which  unites  us  in  love  for — your  son ! 
We  will  be  good  friends." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  said  Anastasia  in  delight,  holding 
out  her  sunburnt  finger  to  receive  the  gift.  "  What  will  my 
brother  say  when  I  come  home  with  such  a  present  ?  "  She 
gratefully  kissed  the  donor's  hand.  "  You  are  too  kind. 
Countess — I  don't  know  how  I  deserve  it."  She  stooped  and 
lifted  her  jug.  "  I  must  go  home  now  to  help  my  sister-in-law. 
You  will  visit  us,  won't  you  ?  My  brother  will  be  so  pleased." 

"Very  gladly — if  you  will  allow  me,"  replied  the  lady, 
smiling. 

"  I  beg  you  to  do  so ! "  said  Anastasia  with  ready 
tact.  Then  with  noble  dignity,  she  moved  away  across  the 
fields,  waving  her  hand  from  the  distance  to  the  couple  she 
had  left  behind,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Be  happy ! " 


148  ON   THE   CROSS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

BRIDAL    TORCHES. 

"  Magdalene — Wife — Angel — what  shall  I  call  you  ?  " 
cried  Freyer,  extending  his  arms.  "  Oh,  if  only  we  were  not 
in  the  open  fields,  that  I  might  press  you  to  my  heart  and 
thank  you  for  being  so  kind — so  generous  and  so  kind." 

"  Does  your  heart  at  last  yearn  for  me  ?  Then  let  us 
come  into  the  forest,  where  no  one  is  watching  us  save  holy 
nature.  Take  me  up  one  of  the  mountains.  Will  you  ?  Can 
you  ?  Will  not  your  hay  spoil  ?" 

"  Let  it  spoil,  what  does  that  matter?  But  first  you  must 
allow  me  to  go  home  to  put  on  garments  more  suitable  for 
your  society." 

"  No,  that  will  be  too  late  !  Remain  as  you  are — you  are 
handsome  in  any  clothes,"  she  whispered,  blushing  faintly, 
like  a  girl,  while  she  lowered  her  eyes  from  the  kingly  figure 
to  the  ground.  A  happy  smile  flitted  over  her  face.  Stooping, 
she  picked  up  the  jacket  which  he  had  removed  while  doing 
his  work. 

"  And  you — are  you  equipped  for  mountain  climbing  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  will  not  go  far.  Not  farther  than  we  can  go  and 
return  in  time  for  dinner  " 

"  Come,  then.  If  matters  come  to  the  worst,  I  will  take  my 
dove  on  my  shoulder  and  carry  her  when  she  can  walk  no 
farther." 

"  Oh,  happy  freedom ! "  cried  the  countess,  joyously ! 
"  To  wander  through  the  woods,  like  two  children  in  a 
fairy  tale,  enchanted  by  some  wicked  fairy  and  unable  to  ap- 
pear again  until  after  a  thousand  years  !  Oh,  poetry  of  child- 
hood— for  the  first  time  you  smile  upon  me  in  all  your  radi- 
ance. Come,  let  us  hasten — it  is  so  beautiful  that  I  can 
hardly  believe  it.  I  shall  not,  until  we  are  there." 

She  flew  rather  than  walked  by  his  side.  "  My  dove — 
suppose  that  we  were  enchanted  and  forced  to  remain  in  the 
forest  together  a  thousand  years  ?  " 

"  Let  us  try  it !  "  she  whispered,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his 
till  he  murmured,  panting  for  breath  :  "  I  believe — the  spell  is 
beginning  to  work."  And  his  eyes  glowed  with  a  gloomy  fire 


BRIDAL   TORCHES.  •  149 

as  he  murmured,  watching  her :  "  Who  knows  whether  I  am 
not  harboring  th'e  Lorelei  herself,  who  is  luring  me  into  her 
kingdom  to  destroy  me !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  Lorelei  ?  " 

Freyer  stopped.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  read  nothing  ? 
What  else  should  I  do  during  the  long  evenings,  when  wearied 
by  my  work,  I  am  resting  at  home  ?  " 

"  Really  ?  "   she  asked  absently,  drawing  him  forward. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  understand  a  woman  like  you 
if  I  had  not  educated  myself  a  little  ?  Alas,  we  cannot  accom- 
plish much  when  the  proper  foundation  is  lacking.  The  un- 
trained memory  retains  nothing  firmly  except  what  passes  in- 
stantly into  flesh  and  blood,  the  perception  of  life  as  it  is  re- 
flected to  us  from  the  mirror  of  art.  But  even  this  reflection 
is  sometimes  distorted  and  confuses  our  natural  thoughts  and 
feelings.  Alas,  dear  one,  a  person  who  has  learned  nothing  cor- 
rectly, and  yet  knows  the  yearning  for  something  higher,  with- 
out being  able  to  satisfy  it — is  like  a  lost  soul  that  never  at- 
tains the  goal  for  which  it  longs." 

"  My  poor  friend,  I  do  know  that  feeling — to  a  certain  ex- 
tent it  is  the  same  with  us  women.  We,  too,  have  the  yearn- 
ing for  education,  and  finally  attain  only  a  defective  amount 
of  knowledge  !  But,  by  way  of  compensation,  individuality, 
directness,  intuitiveness  are  developed  all  the  more  fully. 
You  did  not  need  to  know  anything — your  influence  is  exerted 
through  your  personality ;  as  such  you  are  great.  All  knowl- 
edge comes  from  man,  and  is  attainable  by  him — the  divine 
gift  of  individuality  can  neither  be  gained,  nor  bestowed,  any 
more  than  intuition  !  What  is  all  the  logic  of  reflecting  rea- 
son compared  with  the  gift  of  intuition,  which  enabled  you 
to  assume  the  part  of  a  God  ?  Is  not  that  a  greater  marvel 
than  the  hard-won  result  of  systematic  study  at  the  desk  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  kind  comforter !  "  said  Freyer. 

"  Thinking  makes  people  old !  "  she  continued.  "  It  has 
aged  the  human  race,  too. — Nature,  simplicity,  love  must 
restore  its  youth !  In  them  is  direct  contact  with  the  deity ; 
in  civilization  only  an  indirect  one.  Fortunately  for  me, 
I  have  put  my  lips  to  their  spring.  Oh,  eternal  fountain  of 
human  nature,  I  drink  from  you  with  eager  draughts." 

They  had  entered  the  forest — the  tree-tops  rustled  high 


150  ON   THE    CROSS. 

above  their  heads  and  at  their  feet  rippled  a  mountain  stream. 
Madeleine  von  Wildenau  was  silent — her  heart  rested  on  her 
friend's  broad  breast,  heaving  with  the  rapid  throbbing  of  his 
heart,  her  supple  figure  had  sunk  wearily  down  by  his  side. 
"Say  no  more — not  a  word  is  needed  here."  The  deep 
gloom  of  the  woods  surrounded  them — a  sacred  stillness  and 
solitude.  "  On  every  height  there  dwells  repose !  "  echoed 
in  soft  melody  above  her  head,  the  marvellous  Rubinstein- 
i  Goethe  song.  There  was  no  human  voice,  it  seemed  like  a 
>  mere  breath  from  the  distance  of  a  dream — like  the  wind 
sweeping  over  the  chords  of  the  cymbal  hung  by  Lenau's 
gypsy  on  a  tree,  scarcely  audible,  already  dying  away  again. 
Her  ear  had  caught  the  notes  of  that  ^Eolian  harp  once  before : 
she  knew  them  again ;  on  the  cross — with  the  words  :  "  Into 
thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit."  And  sweet  as  the  voice 
which  spoke  at  that  time  was  now  the  tenor  that  softly,  softly 
hushed  the  restless  spirit  of  the  worldling  to  slumber.  "  Wait ; 
soon,  soon — "  and  then  the  notes  gradually  rose  till  the  whole 
buzzing,  singing  woodland  choir  seemed  to  join  in  the  words  : 
"  Thou,  too,  shalt  soon  rest." 

The  mysterious  sound  came  from  the  depths  of  the  great 
heart  on  which  she  rested,  as  if  the  soul  had  quitted  the  body 
a  few  moments  and  now,  returning,  was  revealing  with  sweet 
lamentation  what  it  had  beheld  in  the  invisible  world. 

"Are  you  weeping  ?  "  he  asked  tenderly,  kissing  the  curls 
which  clustered  round  her  forehead :  "  My  child." 

"  Oh,  when  you  utter  that  word,  I  have  a  feeling  which  I 
never  experienced  before.  Yes,  I  am,  I  wish  to  be  a  child  in 
J  your  hands.  Only  those  who  have  ever  tasted  the  delight  of 
j  casting  the  burden  of  their  own  egoism  upon  any  altar, 
whether  it  be  religion  or  love — yielding  themselves  up,  be- 
coming absorbed  in  another,  higher  power — only  those  can 
know  my  emotions  when  I  lean  on  your  breast  and  you  call 
me  your  child  !  Thus  released  from  ourselves,  thus  free  and 
untrammelled  must  we  feel  when  we  have  stripped  off  in  death 
the  fetters  of  the  body  and  merged  all  which  is  personal  to  us 
in  God." 

"  Heaven  has  destined  you  for  itself,  and  you  already  feel 
how  it  is  loosening  your  fibres  and  gradually  drawing  you  up 
out  of  the  soil  in  which  you  are  rooted.  That  is  why  you 


BRIDAL   TORCHES.  15! 

wept  when  I  sang  that  song  to  you  here  in  the  quiet  woodland 
solitude.  Such  tears  are  like  the  drops  the  tree  weeps,  when 
a  name  is  cut  upon  it.  At  such  moments  you  feel  the  hand 
of  God  tearing  open  the  bark  which  the  world  has  formed 
around  your  heart,  and  the  sap  wells  from  the  wounded  spot. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  "  He  gently  passed  his  hand  over  her  eyes, 
glittering  with  unshed  tears. 

"  Ah,  noble  soul !  How  you  penetrate  the  depths  of  my 
being !  What  is  all  the  wit  and  wisdom  of  the  educated 
mind,  compared  with  the  direct  inspiration  of  your  poetic  na- 
ture. Freyer,  Spring  of  the  earth — Christ,  Spring  of  humanity ! 
My  heart  is  putting  forth  its  first  blossom  for  you,  take  it." 
She  threw  herself  with  closed  eyes  upon  his  breast,  as  if  blindly. 
He  clasped  her  in  a  close  embrace,  holding  her  a  long  time 
silently  in  his  arms.  Then  he  said  softly :  "  I  will  accept  the 
beautiful  blossom  of  your  heart,  my  child,  but  not  for  myself." 
He  raised  his  eyes  fervently  upward  :  "  Oh,  God,  Thou  hast 
opened  Thy  hand  to  the  beggar,  and  made  him  rich  that  he 
may  sacrifice  to  Thee  what  no  king  could  offer.  I  thank 
Thee." 

Something  laughed  above  their  heads — it  was  a  pair  of 
wild-doves,  cooing  in  the  green  tent  over  them. 

"  Do  you  know  why  they  are  laughing  ? "  asked  the 
countess,  in  an  altered  tone.  "  They  are  laughing  at  us !  " 

"  Magdalena ! " 

"Yes!  They  are  laughing  at  the  self- tormenting  doubt  of 
God's  goodness.  Look  around  you,  see  the  torrent  foaming, 
and  the  blue  gentians  drinking  its  spray,  see  the  fruit-laden 
hazel,  the  sacred  tree  which  sheltered  your  childhood ;  see  the 
bilberries  at  your  feet,  all  the  intoxicating  growth  and  move- 
ment of  nature,  and  then  ask  yourself  whether  the  God  who 
created  all  this  warm,  sunny  life  is  a  God  who  only  takes — not 
gives.  Do  you  believe  He  would  have  prepared  for  us  this 
Spring  of  love,  that  we  may  let  its  blossoms  wither  on  the  cold 
altar  of  duty  or  of  prejudice?  No — take  what  He  bestows — 
and  do  not  question." 

"  Do  not  lead  me  into  temptation,  Magdalena !  "  he  gently 
entreated.  "  I  told  you  this  morning  that  you  do  not  know 
what  you  are  unloosening." 

He  stood  before  her  as  if  transfigured,  his   eyes  glowed 


152  ON   THE    CROSS. 

with  the  sombre  fire  which  had  flashed  in  them  a  moment 
early  that  morning,  a  rustling  like  eagle's  pinions  ran  through 
the  forest — Jupiter  was  approaching  in  human  form. 

The  beautiful  woman  sat  down  on  a  log  with  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap. 

"  A  man  like  me  loves  but  once,  but  with  his  whole  being. 
I  demand  nothing — but  what  is  given  to  me  is  given  wholly, 
or  not  at  all ;  for  if  I  once  have  it,  I  will  never  give  it  up  save 
with  my  life ! 

"  Not  long  since  a  stranger  came  here,  who  sang  the  song 
of  the  Assras,  who  die  when  they  love.  I  believe  I  am  of  their 
race.  Woman,  do  not  toy,  do  not  trifle  with  me  !  For  know 
— I  love  you  with  the  fatal  love  of  those  '  Assras.'  " 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  trembled  with  delight. 

"  If  I  once  touch  your  lips,  the  barrier  between  us  will 
have  fallen  !  Will  you  forgive  me  if  the  flood-tide  of  feeling 
sweeps  me  away  till  I  forget  who  you  are  and  what  a  gulf 
divides  the  Countess  Wildenau  from  the  low-born  peasant  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  you  can  remind  me  of  it — in  this  hour — ! "  cried 
the  countess,  with  sorrowful  reproach. 

He  looked  almost  threateningly  into  her  eyes.  The  dark 
locks  around  his  head  seemed  to  stir  like  the  bristling  mane  of 
a  lion  :  "  Woman,  you  do  not  know  me !  If  you  deceive  me, 
you  will  betray  the  most  sacred  emotion  ever  felt  by  mortal 
man — and  it  will  be  terribly  avenged.  Then  the  flame  you 
are  kindling  will  consume  either  you  or  me,  or  both.  You  see 
that  I  am  now  a  different  man.  Formerly  you  have  beheld 
me  only  when  curbed  by  the  victorious  power  of  my  holy  task. 
You  have  conjured  up  the  spirits,  now  they  can  no  longer  be 
held  in  thrall — will  you  not  be  terrified  by  the  might  of  a  pas- 
sion which  is  unknown  to  you  people  of  the  world,  with  your 
calm  self-control  ?  " 

"  /,  terrified  by  you  ?  "  cried  the  proud  woman  in  a  tone 
of  exultant  rapture.  "  Oh,  this  is  power,  this  is  the  very  breath 
of  the  gods.  Should  I  fear  amid  the  element  for  which  I 
longed — which  was  revealed  to  me  in  my  own  breast  ?  Does 
the  flame  fear  the  fire  ?  The  Titaness  dread  the  Titan  ?  Ah, 
Zeus,  hurl  thy  thunderbolt,  and  let  the  forest  blaze  as  the  vic- 
torious torch  of  nature  at  last  released  from  her  long  bond- 
age," 


BRIDAL   TORCHES.  153 

> 

He  sat  down  by  her  side,  his  fiery  breath  fanning  her  cheek. 
"  Then  you  will  try  it,  will  give  me  the  kiss  I  dared  not  take 
to-day  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  it  will  be  a  betrothal  kiss." 

"Yes." 

He  opened  his  arms,  and  as  a  black  moth  settles  upon  a 
fragrant  tea-rose,  hovering  on  its  velvet  wings  above  the  dewy 
calyx,  he  bent  his  head  to  hers,  shadowing  her  with  his  dark 
locks  and  pressed  his  first  kiss  upon  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's 
quivering  lips. 

But  such  moments  tempt  the  gods  themselves,  and  Jupiter 
hovered  over  the  pair,  full  of  wrath,  for  he  envied  the  Chris- 
tian mortal  the  beautiful  woman.  He  had  heard  her  laugh- 
ingly challenge  him  in  the  midst  of  the  joy  she  had  stolen 
from  the  gods,  and  the  heavens  darkened,  the  hurricane 
saddled  the  steeds  of  the  storm,  awaiting  his  beck,  and  down 
flashed  the  fire  from  the  sky — a  shrill  cry  rent  the  air,  the 
highest  tree  in  the  forest  was  cleft  asunder  and  the  bridal 
torch  lighted  by  Jupiter  blazed  aloft. 

"  The  gods  are  averse  to  it, "  said  Freyer,  gloomily. 
"Defy  them!"  cried  the  countess,  starting  up;  "they  are 
powerless — we  are  in  the  hands  of  a  Higher  Ruler." 

"  Woman,  you  do  not  belong  to  this  world,  or  you  have 
no  nerves  which  can  tremble." 

"  Tremble  ?  "  She  laughed  happily.  "  Tremble,  by  your 
side  ?  "  Then,  nestling  closer  still,  she  murmured  :  "  I  am 
as  cowardly  as  ever  woman  was,  but  where  I  love  I  have  the 
courage  to  defy  death.  Even  were  I  to  fall  now  beneath  a 
thunderbolt,  could  I  have  a  fairer  death  than  at  this  moment  ? 
You  would  willingly  die  for  your  Christ — and  I  for  mine." 

"  Well  then,  come,  you  noble  woman,  that  I  may  shield 
you  as  well  as  I  can !  Now  we  shall  see  whether  God  is  with 
us !  I  defy  the  elements  !  "  He  proudly  clasped  the  object 
of  his  love  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  firmly  on  through  the 
chaos  into  which  the  whole  forest  had  fallen.  The  tempest, 
howling  fiercely,  burst  its  way  through  the  woods.  The 
boughs  snapped,  the  birds  were  hurled  about  helplessly.  The 
destroying  element  seemed  to  come  from  both  heights  and 
depths  at  the  same  time,  for  it  shook  the  earth  and  tore  the 


154  ON   THE   CROSS. 

roots  of  trees  from  the  ground  till  the  lofty  trunks  fell  shat- 
tered and,  rolling  down  the  mountain,  swept  everything  with 
them  in  the  sudden  ruin.  With  fiendish  thirst  for  battle  the 
fiery  sword  flamed  from  the  sky  amid  the  uproar,  dealing 
thrust  after  thrust  and  blow  after  blow — while  here  and  there 
scarlet  tongues  of  flame  shot  hissing  upward  through  the  dry 
branches. 

A  torrent  of  rain  now  dashed  from  the  clouds  but  without 
quenching  the  flames,  whose  smoke  was  pressed  down  into 
the  tree-tops,  closely  interlaced  by  the  tempest.  Like  a 
gigantic  black  serpent,  it  rolled  its  coils  from  every  direction, 
stifling,  suffocating  with  the  glowing  breath  of  the  forest  con- 
flagration, and  the  undulating  cloud  body  bore  with  it  in 
glittering,  flashing  sparks,  millions  of  burning  pine  needles. 

"  Well,  soul  of  fire,  is  the  heat  fierce  enough  for  you  now  ?  " 
asked  Freyer,  pressing  the  beautiful  woman  closer  to  his  side 
to  shield  her  with  his  own  body :  "  Are  you  content  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  gasping  for  breath,  and  the  eyes  of  both 
met,  as  if  they  felt  only  the  fire  in  their  own  hearts  and  had 
blended  this  with  the  external  element  into  a  single  sea  of 
flame. 

Nearer,  closer  drew  the  fire  in  ever  narrowing  circles 
around  the  defiant  pair,  more  and  more  sultry  became  the 
path,  brighter  grew  the  hissing  blaze  through  which  they  were 
compelled  to  force  their  way.  Now  on  the  left,  now  on  the 
right,  the  red-eyed  conflagration  confronted  them  amid  the 
clouds  of  smoke  and  flame,  half  stifled  by  the  descending 
floods  of  rain,  yet  pouring  from  its  open  jaws  hot,  scorching 
steam — fatal  to  laboring  human  chests — and  obliged  the  fugi- 
tives to  turn  back  in  search  of  some  new  opening  for  escape. 

"  If  the  rain  ceases,  we  are  lost!  "  said  the  countess  with 
the  utmost  calmness.  "  Then  the  fire  will  be  sole  ruler." 

Freyer  made  no  reply.  Steadily,  unflinchingly,  he 
struggled  on,  grasping  with  the  strength  of  a  Titan  the  falling 
boughs  which  threatened  the  countess'  life,  shielding  with  both 
arms  her  uncovered  head  from  the  flying  sparks,  and  ever  and 
anon,  sprinkling  her  hair  and  garments  from  some  bubbling 
spring.  The  water  in  the  brooks  was  already  warm.  Throngs 
of  animals  fleeing  from  the  flames  surrounded  them,  and  birds 
with  scorched  wings  fell  at  their  feet.  It  was  no  longer  possi- 


BRIDAL   TORCHES.  155 

i 

ble  to  go  down,  the  fire  was  raging  below  them.  They  were 
compelled  to  climb  up  the  mountain  and  seek  the  summit. 

"  Only  have  courage — forward !  "  were  Freyer's  sole  words. 
And  upward  they  toiled — through  the  pathless  woods,  through 
underbrush  and  thickets,  over  roots  of  trees,  rolling  stones, 
and  rocks,  never  pausing,  never  taking  breath,  for  the  flames 
were  close  at  their  heels,  threatening  them  with  their  fiendish 
embrace.  Where  the  path  was  too  toilsome,  Freyer  lifted  the 
woman  he  loved  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  over  the  rough 
places. 

At  last  the  woods  grew  thinner,  the  boundary  of  the  flames 
was  passed,  they  had  reached  the  top — were  saved.  The 
neighing  steeds  of  the  wind  received  them  on  the  barren 
height  and  strove  to  hurl  them  back  into  the  fiery  grave,  but 
Freyer's  towering  form  resisted  their  assault  and,  with  power- 
less fury,  they  tore  away  the  rocks  on  the  right  and  left  and 
rolled  them  thundering  down  into  the  depths  below.  The 
water  pouring  from  the  clouds  drenched  the  lovers  like  a  bil- 
low from  the  sea,  beating  into  their  eyes,  mouths,  and  ears  till, 
blinded  and  deafened,  they  were  obliged  to  grope  their  way 
along  the  cliff.  The  garments  of  the  beautiful  Madeleine  von 
Wildenau  hung  around  her  in  tatters,  heavy  as  lead,  her  hair 
was  loosened,  dripping  and  dishevelled,  she  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot  with  cold  in  the  icy  wind  and  rain  here  on 
the  heights,  after  the  heat  and  terror  below  in  the  smouldering 
thicket. 

"  I  know  where  there  is  a  herder's  hut,  I'll  take  you  to  it. 
Cling  closely  to  me,  we  must  climb  still  higher." 

They  silently  continued  the  ascent. 

The  countess  staggered  with  fatigue.  Freyer  lifted  her 
again  in  his  arms,  and,  by  almost  superhuman  exertion,  bore 
her  up  the  last  steep  ascent  to  the  hut.  It  was  empty.  He 
placed  the  exhausted  woman  on  the  herder's  straw  pallet, 
where  she  sank  fainting.  When  she  regained  her  conscious- 
ness sht  was  supported  in  Freyer's  arms,  and  her  face  was 
wet  with  his  tears.  She  gazed  at  him  as  if  waking  to  the 
reality  of  some  beautiful  dream.  "  Is  it  really  you  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  such  sweet  childlike  happiness,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  around  him,  that  the  strong  man's  brain  and  heart  reeled 
as  if  his  senses  were  failing. 


156  ON  THE   CROSS. 

"  You  are  alive,  you  are  safe  ?  "  He  could  say  no  more. 
He  kissed  her  dripping  garments  her  feet,  and  tenderly  ex- 
amined her  beautiful  limbs  to  assure  himself  that  she  had  re- 
ceived no  injury.  "  Thank  Heaven !  "  he  cried  joyously, 
amid  his  tears,  "you  are  safe!"  Then,  half  staggering,  he 
rose  :  "  Now,  in  the  presence  of  the  deadly  peril  we  have  just 
escaped,  tell  me  whether  you  really  love  me,  tell  me  whether 
you  are  mine,  wholly  mine!  Or  hurl  me  down  into  the  blaz- 
ing forest — it  would  be  more  merciful,  by  Heaven  !  than  to 
deceive  me." 

"  Joseph!  "  cried  the  countess,  clinging  passionately  to  him. 
"  Can  you  ask  that — now  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  I  cannot  understand  how  a  poor  ignorant  man  like 
me  can  win  the  love  of  such  a.  woman.  What  can  you  love, 
save  the  illusion  of  the  Christ,  and  when  that  has  vanished — 
what  remains  ?  " 

"  The  divine,  the  real  love  !  "  replied  the  countess  with  a 
lofty  expression. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  that  you  are  sincere.  But  if  you  have  de- 
ceived yourself,  if  you  should  ever  perceive  that  you  have 
overestimated  me — ah,  it  would  be  far  better  for  me  to  be 
lying  down  below  amid  the  flames  than  to  experience  that. 
There  is  still  time — consider  well,  and  say — what  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  Consider  ?  "  replied  the  countess,  drawing  his  head  down 
to  hers.  "  Tell  the  torrent  to  consider  ere  it  plunges  over  the 
cliff,  to  dissolve  into  spray  in  the  leap.  Tell  the  flower  to 
consider  ere  it  opens  to  the  sunbeam  which  will  consume  it ! 
Will  you  be  more  petty  than  they  ?  What  is  there  to  con- 
sider, when  a  mighty  impulse  powerfully  constrains  us  ?  Is 
not  this  moment  worth  risking  the  whole  life  without  asking  : 
'  What  is  to  come  of  it  ? '  Ah,  then — then,  I  have  been  mis- 
taken in  you  and  it  will  be  better  for  us  to  part  while  there  is 
yet  time." 

"  Oh  —  enchantress  !  You  are  right,  I  no  longer  know 
myself!  Part,  now  ?  No,  it  is  too  late,  I  am  yours,  body  and 
soul.  Be  .it  so,  then,  I  will  barter  my  life  for  this  moment,  and 
no  longer  doubt,  for  I  can  do  nothing  else." 

Sinking  on  his  knees  before  her,  he  buried  his  face  in  her 
lap.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  embraced  him  with  unspeak- 
able tenderness,  yet  she  felt  the  burden  of  a  heavy  responsibil- 


BRIDAL    TORCHES. 


'57 


ity  resting  upon  her,  for  she  now  realized — that  she  was  his 
destiny.  She  had  what  she  desired,  his  soul,  his  heart,  his  life 
— nay,  had  he  possessed  immortality,  he  would  have  sacrificed 
that,  too,  for  her  sake.  But  now  the  "  God  "  had  become 
hitman — the  choice  was  made.  And,  with  a  secret  tear  she 
gazed  upon  the  husk  of  the  beautiful  illusion  which  had  van- 
ished. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  suddenly,  raising  his 
head  and  gazing  into  her  eyes  with  anxious  foreboding.  "  You 
have  grown  cold." 

"  No,  only  sad." 

"And  why?" 

"  Alas  !  I  do  not  know !  Nothing  in  this  world  can  be 
quite  perfect."  She  drew  him  tenderly  toward  her.  "  This  is 
one  of  those  moments  in  which  the  highest  happiness  becomes 
pain.  The  fury  of  the  elements  could  not  harm  us,  but  it  is  a 
silent,  stealing  sorrow,  which  will  appease  the  envy  of  the  gods 
for  unprecedented  earthly  bliss :  Mourning  for  my  Christus." 

Freyer  uttered  a  cry  of  anguish  and  starting  up,  covered 
his  face  with  both  hands.  "  Oh,  that  you  are  forced  to  re- 
mind me  of  it ! "  He  rushed  out  of  the  hut. 

What  did  this  mean.  The  beautiful  mistress  of  his  heart 
felt  as  if  she  had  deceived  herself  when  she  believed  him  to  be 
exclusively  her  own,  as  if  there  was  something  in  the  man  over 
which  she  had  no  power!  Filled  with  vague  terror, she  fol- 
lowed him.  He  stood  leaning  against  the  hut  as  if  in  a  dream 
and  did  not  lift  his  eyes.  The  sound  of  alarm-bells  and  the 
rattle  of  fire-arms  echoed  from  the  valley.  The  rain  had 
ceased,  and  columns  of  flame  were  now  rising  high  into  the 
air,  forming  a  crimson  canopy  above  the  trees  in  the  forest. 
It  was  a  wild  scene,  this  glowing  sea  of  fire  into  which  tree 
after  tree  gradually  vanished,  the  air  quivering  with  the  crash 
of  the  falling  boughs,  from  which  rose  a  shower  of  sparks,  and 
a  crowd  of  shrieking  birds  eddying  amid  the  flames.  Joseph 
Freyer  did  not  heed  it.  The  countess  approached  almost 
timidly.  "  Joseph — have  I  offended  you  ?  " 

"  No,  my  child,  on  the  contrary !  When  I  reminded  you 
to-day  of  the  obligations  of  your  rank,  you  were  angry  with  me, 
but  I  thank  you  for  having  remembered  what  I  forgot  for 
your  sake." 


158  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  Well.  But,  spite  of  the  warning,  I  was  not  ashamed  of 
you  and  did  not  disown  you  before  the  Countess  Wildenau  ! 
But  you,  Joseph,  are  ashamed  of  me  in  the  presence  of  Christ ! " 

He  gazed  keenly,  sorrowfully  at  her.  "  I  ashamed  of  you, 
I  deny  you  in  the  presence  of  my  Redeemer,  who  is  also 
yours  ?  I  deny  you,  because  I  am  forced  to  confess  to  Him 
that  I  love  you  beyond  everything  else — nay,  perhaps  more 
than  I  do  Him  ?  Oh,  my  dearest,  how  little  you  know  me  ! 
May  the  day  never  come  which  will  prove  which  of  us  will 
first  deny  the  other,  and  may  you  never  be  forced  to  weep  the 
tears  which  Peter  shed  when  the  cock  crowed  for  the  third 
time." 

She  sank  upon  his  breast.  "  Xo,  my  beloved,  that  will 
never  be !  In  the  hour  when  that  was  possible,  you  might 
despise  me." 

He  kissed  her  forehead  tenderly.  "  I  should  not  do  that 
— any  more  than  Christ  despised  Feter.  You  are  a  child  of 
the  world,  could  treachery  to  me  be  charged  against  you  if  the 
strong  man,  the  disciple  of  Christ,  was  pardoned  for  treason 
to  the  holiest." 

"  Oh,  my  angel !  It  would  be  treason  to  the  '  holiest,'  " 
said  the  countess  with  deep  emotion,  "  if  I  could  denyj^w/" 

"  Why,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Herr  Freyer,"  shouted  a  voice, 
and  the  herdsman  came  bounding  down  the  mountain  side : 
"  Can  you  stand  there  so  quietly — amid  this  destruction?" 
The  words  died  away  in  the  distance. 

"The  man  is  right,"  said  the  countess  in  a  startled  tone, 
"  we  are  forgetting  everything  around  us.  Whoever  has  hands 
must  help.  Go — leave  me  alone  here  and  follow  the  herds- 
man." 

"  There  is  no  hope  of  extinguishing  the  fire,  the  wood  is 
lost !  "  replied  Freyer,  indifferently.  "It  is  fortunate  that  it  is 
an  isolated  piece  of  land,  so  the  flames  cannot  spread." 

"  But,  Good  Heavens,  at  least  try  to  save  what  can  yet  be 
secured — that  is  only  neighborly  duty." 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you,  happen  what  may." 

"  But  I  am  safe,  and  perhaps  some  poor  man's  all,  is  burn- 
ing below." 

"What  does  it  matter,  in  this  hour  ?" 

"What   does  it   matter?"    the   countess   indignantly  ex- 


BANISHED    FROM    F.DEN.  159 

i 

claimed.  "  Joseph,  I  do  not  understand  you  !  Have  you  so 
little  feeling  for  the  distress  of  your  Jellow  men — and  yet  play 
the  Christ  ?  " 

Freyer  gazed  at  the  destruction  with  a  strange  expression 
— his  noble  figure  towered  proudly  aloft  against  the  gloomy, 
cloud-veiled  sky.  Smiling  calmly,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
woman  he  loved  and  drew  her  tenderly  to  his  breast :  "  Do 
not  upbraid  me,  my  dove — the  wood  was  mine" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


BANISHED    FROM    EDEN. 

Silence  reigned  on  the  height.  The  winds  had  died  away, 
the  clouds  were  scattering  swiftly,  like  an  army  of  ghosts. 
The  embers  of  the  wood  below  crackled  softly.  The  trunks 
had  all  been  gnawed  to  the  roots  by  the  fiery  tooth  of  the 
flames.  It  was  like  a  churchyard  full  of  clumsy  black  crosses 
and  grave-stones  on  which  the  souls  danced  to  and  fro  like 
will-o'-the-wisps. 

The  countess  rested  silently  on  Freyer's  breast.  When  he 
said:  "The  wood  was  mine!"  she  had  thrown  herself,  un- 
able to  utter  a  word,  into  his  arms — and  had  since  remained 
clasped  in  his  embrace  in  silent,  perfect  peace. 

Now  the  misty  veil,  growing  lighter  and  more  transparent, 
at  last  drifted  entirely  away,  and  the  blue  sky  once  more 
arched  above  the  earth  in  a  majestic  dome.  Here  and  there 
sunbeams  darted  through  the  melting  cloud-rack  and  suddenly, 
as  though  the  gates  of  heaven  had  opened,  a  double  rainbow, 
radiant  in  seven-hued  majesty,  spanned  the  vault  above  them 
in  matchless  beauty. 

Freyer  bade  the  countess  look  up.  And  when  she  per- 
ceived the  exquisite  miracle  of  the  air,  with  her  lover  in  the 
midst — encompassed  by  it,  she  raised  her  head  and  extended 
her  arms  like  the  bride  awaiting  the  heavenly  bridegroom. 
Her  eyes  rested  on  him  as  if  dazzled:  "Be  what  you  will, 
man,  seraph,  God.  Shining  one,  you  must  be  mine !  I  will 
bring  you  down  from  the  height  of  your  cross,  though  you 
were  nailed  above  with  seven-fold  irons.  You  must  be  mine. 


l6o  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Freyer,  hear  my  vow,  hear  it,  ye  surrounding  mountains,  hear 
it,  sacred  soil  below,  and  thou  radiant  many-hued  bow  which, 
with  the  grace  of  Aphrodite,  dost  girdle  the  universe,  risen 
from  chaos.  I  swear  to  be  your  wife,  Joseph  Freyer,  swear  it 
by  the  God  Who  has  appeared  to  me,  rising  from  marvel  to 
marvel,  since  my  eyes  first  beheld  you." 

Freyer,  with  bowed  head,  stood  trembling  before  her.  He 
felt  as  if  a  goddess  was  rolling  in  her  chariot  of  clouds  above 
him — as  if  the  glimmering  prism  above  were  dissolving  and 
flooding  him  with  a  sea  of  glittering  sparks.  "  You — my  wife  ?" 
he  faltered,  sobbing,  then  flung  himself  face  downward  before 
her.  "  This  is  too  much — too  much — " 

"  You  shall  be  my  husband,"  she  murmured,  raising  him, 
"  let  me  call  you  so  now  until  the  priest's  hand  has  united  us ! 
When,  where,  and  how  this  can  be  done — I  do  not  yet  know ! 
Let  the  task  of  deciding  be  left  to  hours  devoted  to  the 
consideration  of  earthly  things.  This  is  too  sacred,  it  is  our 
spiritual  marriage  hour,  for  in  it  I  have  pledged  myself  to  you 
in  spirit  and  in  truth !  Our  church  is  nature,  our  witnesses  are 
heaven  and  earth,  our  candles  the  blazing  wood  below — your 
little  heritage  which  you  sacrificed  for  me  with  a  smile  !  And 
so  I  give  you  my  bridal  kiss — my  husband !  " 

But  Freyer  did  not  return  the  caress.  The  old  conflict 
again  awoke — the  conflict  with  his  duty  as  the  representative 
of  Christ. 

"  Oh,  God — is  it  not  the  tempter  whom  Thou  didst  send 
to  Thy  own  son  on  Mt.  Hebron  that  he  might  show  him  all 
the  splendors  of  the  world,  saying:  'All  shall  be  thine ?' 
Dare  I  be  faithless  to  the  character  of  Thy  chaste  son,  if  Thou 
dost  appoint  me  to  undergo  the  same  trial  ?  Dare  I  be  happy, 
dare  I  enjoy,  so  long  as  I  wear  the  sacred  mask  of  His  suffer- 
ings and  sacrifice.  Will  it  not  then  be  a  terrible  fraud,  and 
dare  I  enter  the  presence  of  God  with  this  lie  upon  my  con- 
science ?  Will  He  not  tear  the  crown  of  thorns  from  my  head 
and  exclaim  :  '  Juggler — I  wish  to  rise  by  the  pure  and  saintly 
— not  by  deceivers  who  feign  my  sufferings  and  with  deceitful 
art  turn  the  holiest  things  into  a  farce.  Woe  betide  me,  poor, 
weak  mortal  that  I  am — the  trial  is  too  severe.  I  cannot  en- 
dure it.  Take  Thy  crown — I  place  it  in  Thy  hands  again—- 
and will  personate  the  Christ  no  more." 


BANISHED    FROM    EDEN.  l6t 

"  Joseph !  "  exclaimed  Countess  Wildenau,  deeply  moved. 
"  Must  this  be  ?  I  feel  your  anguish  and  am  stirred  as  if  we 
were  parting  from  our  dearest  possession.  She  raised  her  tear- 
ful eyes  heavenward.  "  Must  the  Christ  vanish  on  the  very 
day  I  plight  my  troth  to  him  whom  I  love  as  Thy  image,  even 
as  Eve  must  have  loved  Adam  for  the  sake  of  his  likeness  to 
God.  And  must  I,  like  Eve,  no  longer  behold  Thy  face  be- 
cause I  have  loved  the  divine  in  mortal  form  after  the  manner 
of  mortals?  Unhappy  doctrine  of  the  fall  of  man,  which 
renders  the  holiest  feeling  a  crime,  must  we  too  be  driven  out 
of  Paradise,  must  you  stand  between  us  and  our  happy  inter- 
course with  the  deity  ?  Joseph.  Do  you  believe  that  the 
Saviour  Who  came  to  bring  redemption  to  the  poor  human  race 
banished  from  Eden,  will  be  angry  with  you  if  you  represent 
with  a  happy  loving  heart  the  sacrifice  by  which  He  saved  us  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  beloved,  you  may  be  right.  Even  the 
time-honored  precepts  of  our  forefathers  permit  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Christ  to  be  married.  Yet  I  think  differently  !  The 
highest  demands  claim  the  loftiest  service !  Whoever  is  per- 
mitted to  personate  the  Saviour  should  have  at  that  time  no 
other  feelings  than  moved  Christ  Himself,  for  truth  may  not 
be  born  of  falsehood." 

He  drew  the  weeping  woman  to  his  heart.  "  You  know, 
sweet  wife — to  love  you  and  call  you  mine  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  the  monotonous  commonplace  matrimonial  happi- 
ness which  our  plain  village  women  can  bestow.  You  demand 
the  whole  being  and  every  power  of  the  soul  is  consumed  in 
you." 

He  clasped  her  in  an  embrace  so  fervent  that  her  breath 
almost  failed,  his  eyes  blazed  with  the  passionate  ardor  with 
which  the  unchained  elements  seize  their  prey.  "  Say  what 
you  will,  it  is  on  your  conscience !  I  can  feel  nothing,  think  of 
nothing  save  you !  Nay,  if  they  should  drive  the  nails  through 
my  own  flesh,  I  should  not  heed  it,  in  my  ardent  yearning  for 
you.  I  have  struggled  long  enough,  but  you  have  bewitched 
me  with  the  sweet  promise  of  becoming  my  wife — and  I  am 
spoiled  for  personating  the  Christ.  I  am  yours,  take  me! 
Only  fly  with  me  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  world,  away 
from  the  place  where  I  was  permitted  to  feel  myself  a  part  of 
God,  and  resigned  it  for  an  earthly  happiness." 

IX 


1 62  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  Come  then,  my  beloved,  let  us  go  forth  like  the  pair  ban- 
ished from  Eden,  and  like  them  take  upon  us,  for  love's  sake, 
our  heavy  human  destiny !  Let  us  bear  it  together,  and  even 
in  exile  love  and  worship,  like  faithful  cast-off  children,  the 
Father  who  was  once  so  near  us !  " 

"Amen!"  said  Freyer,  clasping  the  beautiful  woman  who 
thus  devoted  her  life  to  him  in  a  long,  silent  embrace.  The 
rainbow  above  their  heads  gradually  paled.  The  radiant 
splendor  faded.  The  sun  was  again  concealed  by  clouds,  and 
the  warm  azure  of  the  sky  was  transformed  into  a  chill  grey  by 
the  rising  mists.  The  mountain  peak  lay  bare  and  cheerless, 
the  earth  was  rent  and  ravaged,  nothing  was  visible  save 
rough  rubble  and  colorless  heather.  An  icy  fog  rose  slowly, 
gathering  more  and  more  densely  around  them.  Nothing  could 
be  seen  save  the  sterile  soil  of  the  naked  ridge  on  which  stood 
the  two  lonely  outcasts  from  Eden.  The  gates  of  their  dream 
paradise  had  closed  behind  them,  the  spell  was  broken,  and 
in  silent  submission  they  moved  down  the  hard,  stony  path  to 
reality,  the  cruel  uncertainty  of  human  destiny. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


PIETA. 

Twilight  was  gathering  when  the  pair  reached  the  valley. 

The  Passion  Theatre  loomed  like  a  vast  shadow  by  the 
roadside,  and  both,  as  if  moved  by  the  same  impulse,  turned 
toward  it. 

Freyer,  drawing  a  key  from  his  pocket,  opened  the  door 
leading  to  the  stage.  "  Shall  we  take  leave  of  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Take  leave !  " 

The  countess  said  no  more.  She  knew  that  the  success  of 
the  rest  of  the  performances  depended  solely  upon  him — and  it 
burdened  her  soul  like  a  heavy  reproach.  Yet  she  did  not  tell 
him  so,  for  hers  he  must  be — at  any  cost. 

The  strength  of  her  passion  swept  her  on  to  her  robbery  of 
the  cross,  as  the  wind  bears  away  the  leaf  it  has  stripped  from 
the  tree. 

They  entered  the  property  room.     There  stood  the  stake, 


PIETA.  163 

there  lay  the  scourges  which  lacerated  the  sacred  body.  The 
spear  that  pierced  his  heart  was  leaning  in  a  corner. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  gazed  around  her  with  a  feeling 
of  dread.  Freyer  had  lighted  a  lamp.  Something  close  be- 
side it  flashed,  sending  its  rays  far  through  the  dim  space.  It 
was  the  cup,  the  communion  cup !  Freyer  touched  it  with  a 
trembling  hand:  "Farewell!  I  shall  never  offer  you  to  any 
one  again!  May  all  blessings  flow  from  you!  Happy  the 
hand  which  scatters  them  over  the  world  and  my  beloved 
Ammergau." 

He  kissed  the  brim  of  the  goblet,  and  a  tear  fell  into  it,  but 
it  glittered  with  the  same  unshadowed  radiance.  Freyer 
turned  away,  and  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  other  beloved 
trophies. 

There  lay  the  reed  sceptre  broken  on  the  floor. 

The  countess  shuddered  at  the  sight.  A  strange  melan- 
choly stole  over  her,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  My  sceptre  of  reeds — broken — in  the  dust !  "  said  Freyer, 
his  voice  tremulous  with  an  emotion  which  forced  an  an- 
swering echo  in  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  soul.  He  raised  the 
fragments,  gazing  at  them  long  and  mournfully.  "  Aye,  the  sad 
symbol  speaks  the  truth — my  strength  is  broken,  my  sovereignty 
vanished." 

A  terrible  dread  overpowered  the  countess  and  she  fondly 
clasped  the  man  she  loved,  as  a  princess  might  press  to  her 
heart  her  dethroned  husband,  grieving  amid  the  ruins  of  his 
power.  "You  will  still  remain  king  in  my  heart!"  she  said, 
consolingly,  amid  her  tears. 

"  You  must  now  be  everything  to  me,  my  loved  one.  In 
you  is  my  Heaven,  my  justification  in  the  presence  of  God. 
Hold  me  closely,  firmly,  for  you  must  lift  me  in  your  arms  out 
of  this  constant  torture  by  the  redeeming  power  of  love."  He 
rested  his  head  wearily  on  hers,  and  she  gladly  supported  the 
precious  burden.  She  felt  at  that  moment  that  she  had  the 
power  to  lift  him  from  Hades,  that  the  love  in  her  heart  was 
strong  enough  to  win  Heaven  for  him  and  herself. 

"Womanly  nature  is  drawing  us  together!  "  She  clung  to 
him, so  absorbed  in  blissful  melancholy  that  his  soul  thrilled  with 
an  emotion  never  experienced  before.  Their  lips  now  met  in  a 


164  ON   THE   CROSS. 

kiss  as  pure  as  if  all  earthly  things  were  at  an  end  and  their 
rising  souls  were  greeting  each  other  in  a  loftier  sphere. 

"  That  was  an  angel's  kiss!  "  said  Freyer  with  a  sigh,  while 
the  air  around  the  stake  seemed  to  quiver  with  the  rustling  of 
angels'  wings,  the  chains  which  bound  him  to  it  for  the  scourg- 
ing to  clank  as  though  some  invisible  hand  had  flung  one  end 
around  the  feet  of  the  fugitives,  to  bind  them  forever  to  the 
place  of  the  cross. 

"  Come,  I  have  one  more  thing  to  do."  He  took  the  lamp 
from  the  table  and  went  into  the  dressing-room. 

There  hung  the  raiment  in  which  a  God  revealed  Himself 
to  mortal  eyes — the  ample  garments  stirred  mysteriously  in  the 
draught  from  the  open  door.  A  glimmering  white  figure 
seemed  to  be  soaring  upward  in  one  corner — it  was  the  Resur- 
rection robe.  Inflated  by  the  wind,  it  floated  with  a  ghost-like 
movement,  while  the  man  divested  of  his  divinity  stood  with 
clasped  hands  and  drooping  head — to  say  farewell. 

When  a  mortal  strips  off  his  earthly  husk  he  knows  that  he 
will  exchange  it  for  a  brighter  one !  Here  a  mortal  was  strip- 
ping off  his  robe  of  light  and  returning  to  the  oppressive  form 
of  human  imperfection.  This,  too,  was  a  death  agony. 

The  countess  clung  to  him  tenderly.  "Have  you  forgot- 
ten me  ?  " 

He  threw  his  arm  around  her.     "  Why,  sweet  one  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  she  said,  with  childlike  grace,  "  that  if  you 
thought  of  me,  you  could  not  be  so  sad." 

"  My  child,  I  forget  you  at  the  moment  I  am  resigning 
Heaven  for  your  sake.  You  do  not  ask  that  seriously.  As 
for  the  pain,  let  me  endure  it — for  if  I  could  do  this  with  a 
light  heart,  would  the  sacrifice  be  worthy  of  you?  By  the 
anguish  it  costs  me  you  must  measure  the  greatness  of  my 
love,  if  you  can." 

"  I  can,  for  even  while  I  rest  upon  your  heart,  while  my 
lips  eagerly  inhale  your  breath,  I  pine  with  longing  for  your 
lost  divinity/' 

"  And  no  longer  love  me  as  you  did  when  I  was  the  Christ. 
Be  frank — it  will  come!" 

He  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  while  his  eyes  rested 
mournfully  on  the  shining  robe  which  seemed  to  beckon  to  him 
from  the  doom. 


P1ETA.  165 

"  Oh,  what  are  you  saying !  You  sacrifice  for  me  the 
greatest  possession  which  man  ever  resigned  for  woman ;  the 
illusion  of  deity — and  I  am  to  punish  you  for  the  renuncia- 
tion by  loving  you  less?  Joseph,  what  you  give  me,  no  king 
can  bestow.  Crowns  have  been  sacrificed  for  a  woman's 
sake,  crowns  of  gold — but  never  one  like  this !  " 

"  My  wife !  "  he  murmured  in  sweet,  mournful  tones,  while 
his  dark  eyes  searched  hers  till  her  very  soul  swooned  under 
the  power  of  the  look. 

She  clasped  her  hands  upon  his  breast.  "  Will  you  grant 
me  one  favor?" 

"If  I  can." 

"  Ah,  then,  appear  to  me  once  more  as  the  Christ.  I  will 
go  out  upon  the  stage.  Throw  the  sacred  robe  over  you — let 
me  see  Him  once  more,  clasp  His  knees — let  me  take  farewell, 
an  eternal  farewell  of  the  departing  One." 

"  My  child,  that  would  be  a  sin !  Are  you  again  forgetting 
what  you  yourself  perceived  this  morning  with  prescient  grief — 
that  I  am  a  man  ?  Dare  I  continue  the  sacred  character  out- 
side of  the  play  ?  That  would  be  working  wrong  under  the 
mask  of  my  Saviour." 

"  No,  it  would  be  no  wrong  to  satisfy  the  longing  for  His 
face.  I  will  not  touch  you,  only  once  more,  for  the  last  time 
show  my  wondering  eyes  the  sublime  figure  and  let  the  soul 
pour  forth  all  the  anguish  of  parting  to  the  vanishing  God." 

"  My  wife,  where  is  your  error  carrying  you !  Did  the  God- 
Man  I  personated  vanish  because  I  stripped  off  His  mask  ? 
Poor  wife,  the  anguish  which  now  masters  you  is  remorse  for 
having  in  your  sweet  womanly  weakness  destroyed  the  pious 
illusion  and  never  rested  until  you  made  the  imaginary  God  a 
man.  Oh,  Magdalena,  how  far  you  still  are  from  the  goal 
gained  by  your  predecessor.  Come,  I  will  satisfy  your  long- 
ing ;  I  will  lead  you  where  you  will  perceive  that  He  is  every- 
where, if  we  really  seek  Him,  that  the  form  alone  is  perishable. 
He  is  imperishable."  Then  gently  raising  her,  he  tenderly 
repeated  :  "Come.  Trust  me  and  follow  me."  Casting  one 
more  sorrowful  glance  around  him,  he  took  from  the  table  the 
crown  of  thorns,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and  with  a  steady  arm 
guided  the  weeping  woman  through  the  darkness.  Outside  of 
the  building  the  stars  were  shining  brightly,  the  road  was  dis- 


l66  ON   THE   CROSS. 

tinctly  visible.  The  countess  unresistingly  accompanied  him. 
He  turned  toward  the  village  and  they  walked  swiftly  through 
the  silent  streets.  At  last  the  church  rose,  dark  and  solemn, 
before  them.  He  led  her  in.  A  holy-water  font  stood  at  the 
entrance,  and,  pausing,  he  sprinkled  her  with  the  water.  Then 
they  entered.  The  church  was  dark.  No  light  illumined  it 
save  the  trembling  rays  of  the  ever-burning  lamp  and  two  can- 
dles flickering  low  in  their  sockets  before  an  image  of  the  Ma- 
donna in  a  remote  corner.  They  were  obliged  to  grope  their 
way  forward  slowly  amid  the  wavering  shadows.  At  the  left 
of  the  entrance  stood  a  "  Pieta."  It  was  a  group  almost  life- 
size,  carved  from  wood.  The  crucified  Saviour  in  the  Ma 
donna's  lap.  Mary  Magdalene  was  supporting  his  left  hand, 
raising  it  slightly,  while  John  stood  at  the  Saviour's  feet.  The 
whole  had  been  created  by  an  artist's  hand  with  touching  real- 
ism. The  expression  of  anguish  in  the  Saviour's  face  was  very 
affecting.  Before  the  group  stood  a  priedieu  on  which  lay 
several  withered  wreaths. 

The  countess'  heart  quivered  ;  he  was  leading  her  there  ! 
So  this  was  to  be  the  compensation  for  the  living  image  ? 
Mere  dead  wood  ? 

Freyer  drew  her  gently  down  upon  the  priedieu.  "  Here, 
my  child,  learn  to  seek  him  here,  and  when  you  have  once 
found  Him,  you  will  never  lose  Him  more.  Lay  your  hands  de- 
voutly on  the  apparently  lifeless  breast  and  you  will  feel  the 
heart  within  throbbing,  as  in  mine — only  try." 

"  Alas,  I  cannot,  it  will  be  a  falsehood  if  I  do." 

"What,  that  a  falsehood,  and  I — was  /  the  Christ  ?  " 

"  I  could  imagine  it !  " 

"  Because  I  breathed  ?  Ah,  the  breath  of  the  deity  can 
swell  more  than  a  human  breast,  sister,  and  you  will  hear  it ! 
Collect  your  thoughts — and  pray !  " 

His  whisper  grew  fainter,  the  silence  about  her  more  sol- 
emn. "  I  cannot  pray;  I  never  have  prayed,"  she  lamented, 
"  and  surely  not  to  lifeless  wood." 

"  Only  try — for  my  sake,"  he  urged  gently,  as  if  addressing 
a  restless  child,  which  ought  to  go  to  sleep  and  will  not. 

"  Yes ;  but  stay  with  me,"  she  pleaded  like  a  child,  cling- 
ing to  his  arm. 

"  I  will  stay,"  he  said,  kneeling  by  her  side. 


PIETA.  167 

"  Teach  me  to  pray  as  you  do,"  she  entreated,  raising  her 
delicate  hands  to  him.  He  clasped  them  in  his,  and  she  felt 
as  if  the  world  could  do  her  no  further  harm,  that  her  soul,  her 
life,  lay  in  his  firm  hands. 

The  warmth  emanating  from  him  became  in  her  a  devout 
fervor.  The  pulses  of  ardent  piety  throbbing  in  his  finger-tips 
seemed  to  communicate  a  wave-like  motion  to  the  surrounding 
air,  which  imparted  to  everything  which  hitherto  had  been 
dead  and  rigid,  an  undulating  movement  that  lent  it  a  faint, 
vibrating  life.  . 

Something  stirred,  breathed,  murmured  before  and  above 
her.  There  was  a  rustling  among  the  withered  leaves  of  the 
garlands  at  the  foot  of  the  Pieta,  invisible  feet  glided  through 
the  church  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  high  altar;  high  up 
the  vaulted  dome  rose  a  murmur  which  wandered  to  the  folds 
of  the  funeral  banner,  hanging  above,  passing  from  pillar  to 
pillar,  from  arch  to  arch,  in  ghostly  echoes  which  the  listening 
ear  heard  with  secret  terror,  the  language  of  the  silence. 
And  the  burning  eyes  beheld  the  motionless  forms  begin  to 
stir.  The  contours  of  the  figures  slowly  changed  in  the  un- 
certain, flickering  light,  the  shadows  glided  and  swung  to  and 
fro.  The  Saviour's  lips  opened,  then  slowly  closed,  the  kneel- 
ing woman  touched  the  rigid  limbs  and  laid  her  fevered  fin- 
gers on  the  wounded  breast.  The  other  hand  rested  in  Pray- 
er's. A  chain  was  thus  formed  between  the  three,  which 
thrilled  and  warmed  the  wood  with  the  circulating  stream  of 
the  hot  blood.  It  was  no  longer  a  foreign  substance — it  was 
the  heart,  the  poor  pierced  heart  of  their  beloved,  divine 
friend.  It  throbbed,  suffered,  bled.  More  and  more  dis- 
tinctly the  chest  rose  and  fell  with  the  regular  breathing.  It 
was  the  creative  breath  of  the  deity,  which  works  in  the  con- 
scious and  unconscious  object,  animating  even  soulless  matter. 
The  arm  supported  by  Mary  Magdalene  swayed  to  and  fro, 
the  fingers  of  the  hand  moved  gently.  The  poor  pierced 
hand — it  seemed  as  if  it  were  trying  to  move  toward  the 
countess,  as  if  it  were  pleading,  "  Cool  my  pain." 

Urged  by  an  inexplicable  impulse,  the  countess  warmed 
the  stiff,  slender  fingers  in  her  own.  She  fancied  that  it  was 
giving  relief.  Higher  and  higher  swelled  the  tide  of  feeling  in 
her  heart  until  it  overflowed — and — she  knew  not  how,  she  had 


1 68  ON   THE   CROSS. 

risen  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  wounds  in  the  poor  little 
hand,  a  kiss  of  the  sweetest,  most  sacred  piety.  She  felt  as  if 
she  were  standing  by  a  beloved  corpse  whose  mute  lips  we 
seek,  though  they  no  longer  feel. 

She  could  not  help  it,  and  bending  down  again  the  rosy 
lips  of  the  young  widow  rested  on  the  pale  half-parted  ones  of 
the  statue.  But  the  lips  breathed,  a  cool,  pure  breath  issued 
from  them,  and  the  rigid  form  grew  more  pliant  beneath  the 
sorrowful  caress,  as  though  it  felt  the  reconciling  pain  of  the 
penitent  human  soul.  But  the  divine  fire  which  was  to  purify 
this  soul,  blazed  far  beyond  its  boundaries  in  this  first  ardor. 
Overpowered  by  a  wild  fervor,  she  flung  herself  on  her  knees 
and  adjured  the  God  whose  breath  she  had  drunk  in  that  kiss, 
to  hear  her.  The  friend  praying  at  her  side  was  forgotten, 
the  world  had  vanished,  every  law  of  reason  was  annihilated,  all 
knowledge  was  out  of  her  mind — every  hard-won  conquest  of 
human  empiricism  was  effaced.  From  the  heights  and  from 
the  depths  it  came  with  rustling  pinions,  bearing  the  soul  away 
on  the  flood-tide  of  mercy.  The  miracle  was  approaching — in 
unimagined  majesty. 

Thousands  of  years  vanished,  eternity  dawned  in  that  one 
moment.  All  that  was  and  is,  was  not  and  is  not — past,  pres- 
ent, and  future,  were  blended  and  melted  into  a  single  breath 
beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  natural  life. 

"  If  it  is  Thou,  if  Thou  dost  live,  look  at  me,"  she  had  cried 
with  ardent  aspiration,  and,  lo ! — was  it  shadow  or  imagina- 
tion ? — the  eyes  opened  and  two  large  dark  pupils  were  fixed 
upon  her,  then  the  lids  closed  for  an  instant  to  open  again. 
The  countess  gazed  more  and  more  earnestly  ;  it  was  distinct, 
unmistakable.  A  shudder  ran  through  her  veins  as,  in  a  burn- 
ing fever,  the  limbs  tremble  with  a  sudden  chill.  She  tried  to 
meet  the  look,  but  spite  of  the  tension  in  every  nerve,  the 
effort  was  futile.  It  was  too  overpowering ;  it  was  the  gaze  ol 
a  God.  Dread  and  rapture  were  contending  for  the  mastery. 
Doubtless  she  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  not  outside  of  you,  but 
within  you."  Once  more  she  ventured  to  glance  at  the  mys- 
terious apparition,  but  the  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  upon  her. 
Terror  overpowered  her.  The  chord  of  the  possible  snapped 
and  she  sank  half  senseless  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  while 
the  miracle  closed  its  golden  wings  above  her. 


THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK.  169 

CHAPTER  XV. 


THE   CROWING   OF   THE   COCK. 

A  loud  step  roused  the  rapt  enthusiast  from  her  visions. 
The  sacristan  was  passing  through  the  church,  extinguish- 
ing the  candles  which,  meanwhile,  had  burned  down  in  their 
sockets  before  the  Madonna  in  the  distant  corner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  disturbing  you,"  he  said;  "but  I 
wanted  to  close  the  church.  There  is  plenty  of  time,  how- 
ever. Shall  I  leave  a  candle?  It  will  be  too  dark;  the 
lamp  alone  does  not  give  sufficient  light." 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  Freyer,  more  thoughtful  than  the 
countess,  who,  unable  to  control  herself,  remained  on  her 
knees  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

"  I  will  lock  the  church  when  we  leave  it  and  bring  you 
the  key,"  Freyer  added,  and  the  sacristan  was  satisfied.  The 
imperious  high  priest  withdrew  silently  and  modestly,  that  he 
might  not  disturb  the  prayers  of  the  man  whom  he  sentenced 
to  death  every  week  with  such  fury. 

The  lovers  were  again  alone,  but  the  door  remained  open. 
The  shrill  crowing  of  a  cock  suddenly  echoed  through  the  still- 
ness from  the  yard  of  the  neighboring  parsonage.  The  coun- 
tess started  up.  Her  eyes  were  painfully  dazzled  by  the  light 
of  the  wax  candle  so  close  at  hand.  Before  her,  the  face 
smeared  with  shining  varnish,  lay  the  wooden  Christ,  hard  and 
cold  in  its  carven  bareness  and  rigidity.  The  pale-blue 
painted  eyes  gazed  with  the  traditional  mournfulness  upon  the 
ground. 

"  What  startled  you  just  now  ?  "  asked  Freyer. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  a  miracle  or  a  shadow, 
which  created  the  illusion,  but  I  would  have  sworn  that  the 
statue  moved  its  lids  and  looked  at  me." 

"  Be  it  what  it  might,  it  was  still  a  miracle,"  said  Freyer. 
"  If  the  finger  of  God  can  paint  the  Saviour's  eyes  to  the  exci- 
ted vision  from  the  wave  of  blood  set  in  motion  by  the  pulsa- 
tion of  our  hearts,  or  from  the  shadow  cast  by  a  smoking  candle, 
is  that  any  less  wonderful  than  if  the  stiff  lids  had  really 
moved  ?  " 


1^0  ON    THE    CROSS. 

The  countess  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief;  "  Yes,  you  are 
right.  That  is  the  power  which,  as  you  say,  can  do  more 
than  swell  a  human  breast,  it  can  make,  for  the  yearning  soul, 
a  heart  throb  even  in  a  Christ  carved  from  wood.  Even  if 
what  I  have  just  experienced  could  have  been  done  by  lifeless 
matter,  the  power  which  brought  us  together  was  divine,  and 
no  one  living  could  have  resisted  it.  Lay  aside  your  crown  of 
thorns  trustfully  and  without  remorse,  you  have  accomplished 
your  mission,  you  have  saved  the  soul  for  which  God  destined 
you,  it  was  His  will,  and  who  among  us  could  resist  Him  ?  " 

Freyer  raised  the  crown  of  thorns,  which  he  still  held,  to  his 
lips,  kissed  it,  and  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  the  Pieta:  "  Lord,  Thy 
will  be  done,  in  so  far  as  it  is  Thy  will.  And  if  it  is  not,  for- 
give the  error." 

"  It  is  no  error,  I  understand  God's  purpose  better.  He 
has  sent  me  His  image  in  you  and  given  it  to  me  in  an  attain- 
able human  form,  that  I  may  learn  through  it  to  do  my  duty 
to  the  prototype.  To  the  feeble  power  of  the  novice  in  faith, 
He  graciously  adds  an  earthly  guide.  Oh,  He  is  good  and 
merciful ! " 

She  raised  Freyer  from  his  knees :  "  Come,  thou  God- 
given  one,  that  I  may  fulfil  the  sweetest  duty  ever  imposed  on 
any  mortal,  that  of  loving  you  and  making  you  happy.  God 
and  His  holy  will  be  praised." 

"And  will  you  no  longer  grieve  for  the  lost  Christ  ?  " 

"  No,  for  you  were  right,  He  is  everywhere  !  " 

"  In  God's  name  then,  come  and  obey  the  impulse  of  your 
heart,  even  though  I  perish." 

"  Can  you  speak  so  to-day,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  To-day  especially.  Would  you  not  just  now  have  sworn  to 
the  truth  of  an  illusion  conjured  up  by  a  shadow  ?  And  were  you 
not  disappointed  when  the  light,  came  and  the  spell  vanished  ? 
The  time  will  come  when  you  will  see  me,  as  you  now  do  this 
wooden  figure,  in  the  light  of  commonplace  reality,  and  then 
the  nimbus  will  vanish  and  nothing  will  remain  save  the  dross 
as  here.  Then  your  soul  will  turn  away  disenchanted  and  fol- 
low the  vanished  God  to  loftier  heights." 

"  Or  plunge  into  the  depths,"  murmured  the  countess. 

"  I  should  not  fear  that,  for  then  my  mission  would  have 
been  vain !  No,  my  child,  if  I  did  not  believe  that  I  was  ap- 


THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK.  17 1 

i 

pointed  to  save  you  I  should  have  no  excuse  in  my  own  eyes 
for  what  I  am  doing.  But  come,  it  is  late,  we  must  return 
home  or  our  absence  will  occasion  comment." 

********* 

It  was  half-past  nine  o'clock.  An  elderly  gentleman  of 
distinguished  aristocratic  bearing  was  pacing  impatiently  to 
and  fro. 

The  two  sisters  were  standing  helplessly  in  the  doorway, 
deeply  oppressed  by  the  burden  of  so  haughty  a  guest. 

"  If  she  would  only  come !  "  Sephi  lamented  in  the  utmost 
anxiety,  for  she  dreaded  the  father  for  the  daughter's  sake. 
It  was  the  old  Prince  von  Prankenberg,  and  his  bearing 
augured  nothing  good. 

It  seemed  to  these  loyal  souls  a  democratic  impertinence 
on  the  part  of  fate  that  such  a  gentleman  should  be  kept 
waiting,  and  the  prince  regarded  it  in  precisely  the  same  light. 
The  good  creatures  would  willingly  have  lent  wings  to  the 
daughter  for  whom  such  a  father  was  waiting.  But  what  did 
it  avail  that  the  noble  lord  constantly  quickened  his  pace  as  he 
walked  to  and  fro,  time  and  his  unsuspicious  daughter  did  not 
do  the  same.  Prince  Prankenberg  had  reached  Ammergau  at 
noon  that  day  and  waited  in  vain  for  the  countess.  On  his 
arrival  he  had  found  the  whole  village  in  an  uproar  over  the 
conflagration  in  the  woods,  and  the  countess  and  Herr  Freyer, 
who  had  been  seen  walking  together  in  that  direction,  were 
missing.  At  last  the  herder  reported  that  they  had  been  in 
the  mountain  pasture  with  him,  and  Ludwig  Gross,  on  his 
return  from  directing  the  firemen  in  the  futile  effort  to  extin- 
guish the  flames,  set  off  to  inform  the  Countess  Wildenau  of 
her  father's  arrival.  He  had  evidently  failed  to  find  her,  for 
he  ought  to  have  returned  long  before.  So  the  faithful  women 
had  been  on  coals  of  fire  ever  since.  Andreas  Gross  had 
gone  to  the  village  to  look  for  the  absent  ones,  as  if  that  could 
be  of  any  service !  Josepha  was  gazing  sullenly  through  the 
window-panes  at  the  prince,  who  had  treated  her  as  scornfully 
as  if  she  were  a  common  maid-servant,  when  she  offered  to 
show  him  the  way  to  the  countess'  room,  and  answered : 
"People  can't  stay  in  such  a  hole!  "  Meanwhile  night  had 
closed  in. 

At  last,  coming   from   exactly   the   opposite   direction,   a 


172  ON    THE    CROSS. 

couple  approached  whose  appearance  attracted  the  nobleman's 
attention.  A  female  figure,  bare-headed,  with  dishevelled  hair 
and  tattered,  disordered  garments,  leaning  apparently  almost 
fainting  on  the  arm  of  a  tall,  bearded  man  in  a  peasant's 
jacket.  Could  it — no,  it  was  impossible,  that  could  not  be  his 
daughter. 

The  unsuspecting  pair  came  nearer.  The  lady,  evidently 
exhausted,  was  really  almost  carried  by  her  companion.  It 
was  too  dark  for  the  prince  to  see  distinctly,  but  her  head 
seemed  lo  be  resting  on  the  peasant's  breast.  An  interesting 
pair  of  lovers !  But  they  drew  nearer,  the  prince  could  not 
believe  his  eyes,  it  was  his  daughter,  leaning  on  a  peasant's 
arm.  There  was  an  involuntary  cry  of  horror  from  both  as 
Countess  Wildenau  stood  face  to  face  with  her  haughty  father. 
The  blood  fairly  congealed  in  Madeleine's  veins,  her  cheeks 
blanched  till  their  pallor  glimmered  through  the  gloom  !  Yet 
the  habit  of  maintaining  social  forms  did  not  desert  her : 
"  Oh,  what  a  siirprise !  Good  evening,  Papa !  " 

Her  soul  had  retreated  to  the  inmost  depths  of  her  being, 
and  she  was  but  a  puppet  moving  and  speaking  by  rule. 

Freyer  raised  his  hat  in  a  farewell  salute. 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  she  said  with  an  expressionless  glance. 
"  I  suppose  I  cannot  ask  you  to  rest  a  little  while  ?  Farewell, 
Herr  Freyer,  and  many  thanks." 

How  strange!     Did  it  not  seem  as  if  a  cock  crowed  ? 

Freyer  bowed  silently  and  walked  on,  "  Adieu !  "  said  the 
prince  without  lifting  his  hat.  For  an  instant  he  considered 
whether  he  could  possibly  offer  his  arm  to  a  lady  in  such  attire, 
but  at  last  resolved  to  do  so — she  was  his  daughter,  and  this 
was  not  exactly  the  right  moment  to  quarrel  with  her.  So, 
struggling  with  his  indignation  and  disgust,  he  escorted  her, 
holding  his  arm  very  far  out  as  though  he  might  be  soiled  by 
the  contact,  through  the  house  into  her  room.  The  Gross 
sisters,  with  trembling  hands,  brought  in  lights  and  hastily 
vanished.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  like  an  automaton  whose  machinery  had  run  down. 
The  prince  took  a  candle  from  the  table  and  threw  its  light 
full  upon  her  face.  "  Pardon  me,  I  must  ascertain  whether 
this  lady,  who  looks  as  if  she  had  just  jumped  out  of  a  gipsy-cart, 
is  really  my  daughter  ?  Yes,  it  is  actually  she  ! "  he  exclaimed 


THE    CROWING   OF   THE    COCK.  173 

in  a  tone  intended  to  be  humorous,  but  which  was  merely 
brutal.  "  So  I  find  the  Countess  Wildenau  in  this  guise — 
ragged,  worn,  with  neither  hat  nor  gloves,  wandering  about 
with  peasants !  It  is  incredible ! " 

The  countess  sank  into  a  chair  without  a  word.  Her 
father's  large,  stern  features  were  flushed  with  a  wrath  which 
he  could  scarcely  control. 

"  Have  you  gone  out  of  fashion  so  completely  that  you 
must  seek  your  society  in  such  circles  as  these,  ma  fille  ? 
Could  no  cavalier  be  found  to  escort  the  Countess  Wildenau 
that  she  must  strike  up  an  intimacy  with  one  of  the  comedians 
in  the  Passion  Play  ?  " 

"An  intimacy?  Papa,  this  is  an  insult!"  exclaimed  the 
countess  angrily,  for  though  it  was  true,  she  felt  that  on  his 
lips  and  in  his  meaning  it  was  such  !  Again  a  cock  crowed  at 
this  unwonted  hour. 

"  Well  ma  chere,  when  a  lady  is  caught  half  embraced  by 
such  a  man,  the  inference  is  inevitable." 

"  Dear  me,  1  was  so  exhausted  that  I  could  scarcely 
stand,"  replied  the  countess,  softly,  as  if  the  cocks  might  hear : 
'•  We  were  caught  by  the  storm  and  the  man  was  obliged  to 
support  me.  1  should  think,  however,  that  the  Countess 
Wildenau's  position  was  too  high  for  such  suspicions." 

"  Well,  well,  I  heard  in  Munich  certain  rumors  about  your 
long  stay  here  which  accorded  admirably  with  the  romantic 
personage  who  has  just  left  you.  My  imaginative  daughter 
always  had  strange  fancies,  and  as  you  seem  able  to  endure 
the  peasant  odor — I  am  somewhat  more  sensitive  to  it  .  .  ." 

"  Papa  !  "  cried  the  countess,  frantic  with  shame.  "  I  beg 
you  not  to  speak  in  that  way  of  people  whom  I  esteem." 

"  Aha ! "  said  the  prince  with  a  short  laugh,  "  Your  anger 
speaks  plainly  enough.  I  will  make  no  further  allusion  to 
these  delicate  relations." 

The  countess  remained  silent  a  moment,  struggling  with 
her  emotions.  Should  she  confess  all — should  she  betray  the 
mystery  of  the  "  God  in  man  ?  "  Reveal  it  to  this  frivolous, 
prosaic  man  from  whose  mockery,  even  in  her  childhood,  she 
had  carefully  concealed  every  nobler  feeling — disclose  to  him 
her  most  sacred  possession,  the  miracle  of  her  life  ?  No,  it 
would  be  desecration.  "  I  have  no  delicate  relations  !  I 


174  ON   THE   CROSS. 

scarcely  know  these  people — I  am  interested  in  this  Freyer  as 
the  representative  of  the  Christ — he  is  nothing  more  to  me." 

The  cock  crowed  for  the  third  time. 

"  What  was  that  ?  I  am  continually  hearing  cocks  crow 
to-night.  Did  you  hear  nothing  ?  "  asked  the  countess. 

"  Not  the  slightest  sound !  Have  you  hallucinations  ? " 
asked  the  prince :  "  The  cocks  are  all  asleep  at  this  hour." 

She  knew  it — the  sound  was  but  the  echo  of  her  own 
conscience.  She  thought  of  the  words  Freyer  had  uttered 
that  day  upon  the  mountain,  and  his  large  eyes  gazed  mourn- 
fully, yet  forgivingly  at  her.  Now  she  knew  why  Peter  was 
pardoned !  He  would  not  suffer  the  God  in  whom  he  could 
not  force  men  to  believe  to  be  profaned — so  he  concealed 
Him  in  his  heart.  He  knew  that  the  bond  which  united  him 
to  Christ  and  the  work  which  he  was  appointed  to  do  for 
Him  was  greater  than  the  cheap  martyrdom  of  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  Him  to  the  dull  ears  of  a  handful  of  men  and 
maid-servants  !  It  was  no  lie  when  he  said :  "  I  know  not  the 
man  " — for  he  really  did  #0/know  the  Christ  whom  they  meant. 
He  was  denying — not  Christ,  but  the  criminal,  whom  they 
believed  Him  to  be.  It  was  the  same  with  the  countess.  She 
was  not  ashamed  of  the  man  she  loved,  only  of  the  person  her 
father  saw  in  him  and,  as  she  could  not  explain  to  the  prince 
what  Joseph  Freyer  was  to  her,  she  denied  him  entirely.  But 
even  as  Peter  mourned  as  a  heavy  sin  the  brief  moment  in 
which  he  faithlessly  separated  from  his  beloved  Master,  she, 
too,  now  felt  a  keen  pang,  as  though  a  wound  was  bleeding  in 
her  heart,  and  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  nervous,  ma  fille !  It  isn't  worth  while.  Tears 
for  the  sake  of  that  worthy  villager  ?  "  said  the  prince,  with  a 
contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  Listen,  ma  chere,  I 
believe  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  marry." 

"  Papa !  "  exclaimed  the  countess  indignantly. 

The  prince  laughed  :  "  No  offence,  when  women  like  you 
begin  to  be  sentimental — it  is  time  for  them  to  marry !  You 
were  widowed  too  young — it  was  a  misfortune  for  you." 

"A  misfortune?  May  God  forgive  you  the  sneer  and  me 
the  words — it  was  a  misfortune  that  Wildenau  lived  so  long — 
nay  more:  that  I  ever  became  his  wife,  and  you,  Papa,  ought 
never  to  remind  me  of  it." 


THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK.  175 

i 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Because  I  might  forget  that  you  are  my  father — as_jw/, 
forget  it  when  you  sold  me  to  that  greybeard  ?  " 

"  Sold  ?  What  an  expression,  chere  enfant!  Is  this  the 
result  of  your  study  of  peasant  life  here  ?  I  congratulate  you 
on  the  enlargement  of  your  vocabulary.  This  is  the  gratitude 
of  a  daughter  for  whom  the  most  brilliant  match  in  the  whole 
circle  of  aristocratic  families  was  selected." 

"  And  her  soul  sold  in  exchange,"  the  countess  interrupted ; 
"for  that  my  moral  nature  was  not  utterly  destroyed  is  no 
credit  of  yours." 

The  prince  smiled  with  an  air  of  calm  superiority : 
"Capital!  Moral  nature  destroyed!  When  a  girl  is  wedded 
to  one  of  the  oldest  members  of  the  German  nobility  and 
made  the  possession  of  a  yearly  income  of  half  a  million ! 
That  is  what  she  calls  moral  destruction  and  an  outrageous 
deed,  of  which  the  inhuman  father  must  not  remind  his 
daughter  without  forfeiting  his  paternal  rights.  It  is  positively 
delicious !  "  He  laughed  and  drew  out  his  cigar  case  :  "  You 
see,  mafille — I  understand  a  jest.  Will  you  be  annoyed  if  I 
smoke  a  Havana  in  this  rural  bed-room  ?  " 

"As  you  please!"  replied  the  countess,  who  had  now 
regained  her  former  cold  composure,  holding  the  candle  to 
him.  The  prince  scanned  her  features  with  the  searching 
gaze  of  a  connoisseur  as  she  thus  stood  before  him  illumined 
by  the  ruddy  glow.  "  You  have  lost  a  little  of  your  freshness, 
my  child,  but  you  are  still  beautiful — still  charming.  I  admit 
that  Wildenau  was  rather  too  old  for  a  poetic  nature  like  yours 
— but  there  is  still  time  to  compensate  for  it.  When  were  you 
born  ?  A  father  ought  not  to  ask  his  daughter's  age — but  the 
Almanach  de  Gotha  tells  the  story.  You  must  be  now— 
stop!  You  were  not  quite  seventeen  when  you  married 
Wildenau — you  were  married  nine  years — you  have  been  a 
widow  two — that  makes  you  twenty-eight.  There  is  still 
time,  but — not  much  to  lose !  I  am  saying  this  to  you  in  a 
mother's  place,  my  child  " — he  added,  with  a  repulsive  affecta- 
tion of  tenderness.  His  daughter  made  no  reply. 

"  It  is  true,  you  will  lose  your  income  if  you  give  up  the 
name  of  Wildenau — as  the  will  reads  '  exchange  it  for  an- 
other.1 This  somewhat  restricts  your  choice,  for  you  can 


176  ON    THE    CROSS. 

resign  this  colossal  dower  only  in  favor  of  a  match  which  can 
partially  supply  your  loss." 

The  countess  turned  deadly  pale.  "  That  is  the  curse 
Wildenau  hurled  upon  me  from  his  grave.  It  was  not  enough 
that  I  was  miserable  during  his  life,  no — I  must  not  be  happy 
even  after  his  death." 

"  Why — who  has  told  you  so  ?  You  have  your  choice 
among  any  of  the  handsome  and  wealthy  men  who  can  offer  you 
an  equivalent  for  all  that  you  resign.  Prince  von  Metten-Barn- 
heim,  for  instance !  He  is  a  visionary,  it  is  true — " 

"  Prosaic  Prince  Emil  a  visionary ! "  said  the  countess, 
laughing  bitterly. 

"  Well,  I  think  that  a  man  who  surrounds  himself  so  much 
with  plebeian  society,  scholars  and  authors,  might  properly  be 
termed  a  visionary !  When  his  father  dies,  the  luckless 
country  will  be  ruled  by  loud-voiced  professors.  What  does 
that  matter!  He'll  suit  you  all  the  better,  as  you  are  half 
a  scholar  yourself.  True,  it  might  be  said  that  the  Barn- 
heim  family  is  of  inferior  rank  to  ours  —  the  Prankenbergs 
are  an  older  race  and  from  the  days  of  Charlemagne  have 
not  made  a  single  mesalliance,  while  the  Barnheim  gene- 
alogical tree  shows  several  gaps — which  explains  their  liberal 
tendencies.  Such  things  always  betray  themselves.  Yet  on 
the  other  hand,  they  are  reigning  dukes,  and  we  a  decaying 
race — so  it  is  tolerably  equal.  You  are  interested  in  him — so 
decide  at  last  and  marry  him,  then  you  will  be  a  happy  woman 
and  the  curse  of  the  will  can  have  no  power." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  cried  the  countess,  trembling  with  excite- 
1  ment.  "  But  suppose  that  I  loved  another,  a  poor  man,  whom 
I  could  not  wed  unless  I  possessed  some  property  of  my  own, 
however  small,  and  the  will  made  me  a  beggar  the  moment  I 
gave  him  my  hand — what  then  ?  Should  I  not  have  a  right 
to  hate  the  jealous  despot  and  the  man  who  sacrificed  me  to 
his  selfish  interests — even  though  he  was  my  own  father  ?  " 
A  glance  of  the  keenest  reproach  fell  upon  the  prince. 

He  was  startled  by  this  outburst  of  passion,  hitherto  un- 
known in  his  experience  of  this  apathetic  woman.  He  could 
make  no  use  of  her  present  mood.  Biting  off  a  leaf  from  his 
cigar,  he  blew  it  into  the  air  with  a  graceful  movement  of  the 
lips.  Some  change  had  taken  place  in  Madeleine,  that  was 


THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK.  177 

» 

evident !  If,  after  all,  she  should  commit  some  folly — make 
a  love-match  ?  But  with  whom  ?  Again  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed  that  evening  rose  before  his  mind !  She  had  let  her 
head  rest  on  the  shoulder  of  a  common  peasant — that  could 
not  be  denied,  he  had  seen  it  with  his  own  eyes.  Did  such  a 
delusion  really  exist  ?  A  woman  of  her  temperament  was  in- 
comprehensible— she  would  be  quite  capable,  in  a  moment  of 
enthusiasm,  of  throwing  her  whole  splendid  fortune  away  and 
giving  society  an  unparalleled  spectacle.  Who  could  tell 
what  ideas  such  a  "  lunatic  "  might  take  into  her  head.  And 
yet — who  could  prevent  it  ?  No  one  had  any  power  over 
her — least  of  all  he  himself,  who  could  not  even  threaten  her 
with  disinheritance,  since  it  was  long  since  he  had  possessed 
anything  he  could  call  his  own.  An  old  gambler,  perpetually 
struggling  with  debt,  who  had  come  that  day,  that  very  day, 
to — nay,  he  was  reluctant  to  confess  it  to  himself.  And  he  had 
already  irritated  his  daughter,  his  last  refuge,  the  only  support 
which  still  kept  his  head  above  water,  more  than  was  wise  or 
prudent — he  dared  not  venture  farther. 

He  had  the  suppressed  brutality  of  all  violent  natures 
which  cannot  have  their  own  way,  are  not  masters  of  their 
passions  and  their  circumstances,  and  hence  are  constantly 
placed  in  the  false  position  of  being  compelled  to  ask  the  aid 
of  others ! 

After  having  busied  himself  a  sufficiently  long  time  with 
his  cigar,  he  said  in  a  soothing  and — for  so  imperious  a  man 
— repulsively  submissive  tone :  "  Well,  maji/ie,  there  is  an  ex- 
pedient for  that  case  also.  If  you  loved  a  man  who  was  too 
poor  to  maintain  an  establishment  suitable  for  you — you  might 
do  the  one  thing  without  forfeiting  the  other — Wildenau's 
will  mentions  only  a  change  of  name :  you  might  marry  secretly 
— keep  his  name  and  with  it  his  property." 

"  Papa  !  "  exclaimed  the  countess — a  burning  blush  crim- 
soned her  cheeks,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  with  intense  anxiety 
upon  the  speaker — "  I  could  not  expect  that  from  a  husband 
whom  I  esteemed  and  loved." 

"Why  not?  If  he  could  offer  you  no  maintenance,  he 
could  not  ask  you  to  sacrifice  yours !  Surely  it  would  be 
enough  if  you  gave  him  yourself," 

I* 


178  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"If  he  would  accept  me  under  such  conditions,"  she 
answered,  thoughtfully. 

"  Aha — we  are  on  the  right  track !  "  the  prince  reflected, 
watching  her  keenly.  "  As  soon  as  he  perceived  that  there 
was  no  other  possibility  of  making  you  his — certainly !  A 
woman  like  you  can  persuade  a  man  to  do  anything.  1  don't 
wish  to  be  indiscreet,  but,  mafille — I  fear  that  you  have  made 
a  choice  of  which  you  cannot  help  being  ashamed.  Could 
you  think  of  forming  such  an  alliance  except  in  secret.  If, 
that  is,  you  must  wed  ?  What  would  the  world  say  when 
rumor  whispered :  '  Countess  Wildenau  has  sunk  so  low  that 
she ' — I  dare  not  utter  the  word,  from  the  fear  of  offending 
you." 

The  countess  sat  with  downcast  eyes. 

The  world — !  It  suddenly  stood  before  her  with  its 
mocking  faces.  Should  she  expose  her  sacred  love  to  its 
derision  ?  Should  she  force  the  noble  simple-mannered  man 
who  was  the  salvation  of  her  soul  to  play  a  ridiculous  part  in 
the  eyes  of  society,  as  the  husband  of  the  Countess  Wildenau? 
Her  father  was  right — though  from  very  different  motives. 
Could  this  secret  which  was  too  beautiful,  too  holy,  to  be 
confided  to  her  own  father — endure  the  contact  of  the  world  ? 

"  But  how  could  a  secret  marriage  be  arranged  ? "  she 
asked,  with  feigned  indifference. 

Prince  von  Prankenberg  was  startled  by  the  earnestness  of 
the  question.  Had  matters  gone  so  far  ?  Caution  was 
requisite  here.  Energetic  opposition  could  only  produce  the 
opposite  result,  perhaps  a  public  scandal.  He  reflected  a  mo- 
ment while  apparently  toiling  to  puff  rings  of  smoke  into  the 
air,  as  if  the  world  contained  no  task  more  important.  His 
daughter's  eyes  rested  on  him  with  suspicious  keenness.  At 
last  he  seemed  to  have  formed  his  plan. 

"  A  secret  marriage  ?  Why,  that  is  an  easy  matter  for  a 
woman  of  your  wealth  and  independent  position !  Is  the  per- 
son in  question  a  Catholic  ?  " 

Madeleine  silently  nodded  assent. 

"  Well — then  the  matter  is  perfectly  simple  Follow  the 
example  of  Manzoni's  promessi  sposi,  with  whom  we  are  suffi- 
ciently tormented  while  studying  Italian.  Go  with  your  chosen 
husband  to  the  pastor  and  declare  before  him,  in  the  pres- 


THE  CROWING  OF  THE  COCK.  179 

ence  of  two  witnesses,  who  can  easily  be  found  among  your 
faithful  servants,  that  you  take  each  other  in  marriage.  Ac- 
cording to  the  rite  of  the  Catholic  church,  it  is  sufficient  to 
constitute  a  valid  marriage,  if  both  parties  make  this  declara- 
tion, even  without  the  marriage  ceremonial,  in  the  presence  of 
an  ordained  priest — your  ordained  priest  in  this  case  would  be 
our  old  pastor  at  Prankenberg.  You  can  play  the  farce  best 
there.  You  will  thus  need  no  papers,  no  special  license,  which 
might  betray  you,  and  if  you  manage  cleverly  you  will  succeed 
in  persuading  the  decrepit  old  man  not  to  enter  the  marriage 
in  the  church  register.  "  Then  let  any  one  come  and  say  that 
you  are  married !  There  will  be  absolutely  no  proof — and 
when  the  old  pastor  dies  the  matter  will  go  down  to  the  grave 
with  him !  You  will  choose  witnesses  on  whom  you  can  de- 
pend. What  risk  can  there  be  ?  " 

"  Father !  But  will  that  be  a  marriage  ?"  cried  the  coun- 
tess in  horror. 

"  Not  according  to  our  ideas,"  said  the  prince,  laconically: 
"  But  the  point  is  merely  that  he  shall  consider  himself  mar- 
ried, and  that  he  shall  be  bound — not  you  ?  " 

"  Father — I  will  not  play  such  a  farce !  "  She  turned  away 
with  loathing. 

"  If  you  are  in  earnest — there  will  be  no  farce,  ma  cherc  / 
It  will  rest  entirely  with  you  whether  you  regard  yourself  as 
married  or  not.  In  the  former  case  you  will  have  the  pleas- 
ant consciousness  of  a  moral  act  without  its  troublesome  con- 
sequences— can  go  on  a  journey  after  the  pseudo  wedding, 
roam  through  foreign  lands  with  a  reliable  maid,  and  then 
return  perhaps  with  one  or  two  '  adopted  '  children,  whom,  as 
a  philanthropist,  you  will  educate  and  no  one  can  discover 
anything.  The  anonymous  husband  may  be  installed  by  the 
Countess  Wildenau  under  some  title  on  one  of  her  distant 
estates,  and  the  marriage  will  be  as  happy  as  any — only  less 
prosaic  !  But  you  will  thus  spare  yourself  an  endless  scandal 
in  the  eyes  of  society,  keep  your  pastoral  dream,  and  yet 
remain  the  wealthy  and  powerful  Countess  Wildenau.  Is  not 
that  more  sensible  than  in  Heaven  knows  what  rhapsody  to 
sacrifice  honor,  position,  wealth,  and — your  old  father  ?  " 

"  My  father?"  asked  the  countess,  who  had  struggled  with 


I  So  ON    THE    CROSS. 

the  most  contradictory  emotions  while  listening  to  the  words 
of  the  prince. 

"Why  yes  " — he  busied  himself  again  with  his  cigar,  which 
he  was  now  obliged  to  exchange  for  another,  "  You  know, 
chere  enfant,  the  duties  of  our  position  impose  claims  upon 
families  of  piincely  rank,  which,  unfortunately,  my  finances  no 
longer  allow  me  to  meet.  I — h'm — I  find  myself  compelled — un- 
pleasant as  it  is — to  appeal  to  my  daughter's  kindness — may  I 
.use  one  of  these  soap  dishes  as  an  ash-receiver?  So  I  have  come 
{to  ask  whether,  for  the  sake  of  our  ancient  name — I  expect 
'no  childish  sentimentality — whether  you  could  help  me  with 
an  additional  sum  of  some  fifty  thousand  marks  annually,  and 
ninety  thousand  to  be  paid  at  once — otherwise  nothing  is  left 
for  me— a  light,  please — merci — except  to  put  a  bullet  through 
my  head  !  "  He  paused  to  light  the  fresh  cigar.  The  countess 
clasped  her  hands  in  terror. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Papa !  Are  the  sums  Wildenau  gave 
you  already  exhausted  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean — can  a  Prince  Prankenberg  live  on 
an  income  of  fifty  thousand  marks  ?  If  I  had  not  been  so 
economical,  and  we  did  not  live  in  the  quiet  German  style,  I 
could  not  have  managed  to  make  such  a  trifle  hold  out  so 
long  !  " 

"  A  trifle  !  Then  I  was  sold  so  cheaply  ?  "  cried  Madeleine 
Wildenau  with  passionate  emotion.  "  I  have  not  even,  in 
return  for  my  wasted  life,  the  consciousness  of  having  saved 
my  father  ?  Yes,  yes,  if  this  is  true — I  am  no  longer  free  to 
choose !  I  shall  remain  to  the  end  of  my  days  the  slave  of 
my  dead  husband,  and  must  steal  the  happiness  for  which  I 
long  like  forbidden  fruit.  You  have  chosen  the  moment  for 
this  communication  well — it  must  be  true  !  You  have  destroyed 
the  first  blossom  of  my  life,  and  now,  when  it  would  fain  put 
forth  one  last  bud,  you  blight  that,  too." 

The  prince  rose.  "  I  regret  having  caused  you  any  em- 
barrassment by  my  affairs.  As  I  said,  you  are  your  own  mis- 
tress. If  I  did  not  put  a  bullet  through  my  head  long  ago,  it 
was  purely  out  of  consideration  for  you,  that  the  world  might 
not  say  :  '  Prince  von  Prankenberg  shot  himself  on  account 
of  financial  embarrassment  because  his  wealthy  daughter  would 
not  aid  him  ! '  I  wished  to  save  you  this  scandal — that  is  why 


»THE   CROWING   OF   THE    COCK.  l8r 

I  gave  you  the  choice  of  helping  me  if  you   preferred  to- 
do  so." 

The  countess  shuddered.  "  You  know  that  such  threats 
are  not  needed !  If  I  wept,  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  the 
paltry  money,  but  all  the  unfortunate  circumstances.  How 
can  I  ever  be  happy,  even  in  a  secret  marriage,  if  I  am  con- 
stantly compelled  to  dread  discovery  for  my  father's  sake  ?  If 
it  were  for  a  father  impoverished  by  misfortune,  the  tears  shed 
for  my  sacrifice  of  happiness  would  be  worthy  of  execration — 
but,  Papa,  to  be  compelled  to  sacrifice  the  holiest  feeling  that 
ever  thrilled  a  human  heart  for  gambling,  race-courses,  and 
the  women  of  doubtful  reputation  who  consume  your  property 
— that  is  hard  indeed  !  " 

"  Spare  your  words,  ma  fille,  I  am  not  disposed  to  pur- 
chase your  help  at  the  cost  of  a  lecture.  Either  you  will  re- 
lieve me  from  my  embarrassments  without  reproaches,  or  you 
will  be  the  daughter  of  a  suicide — what  is  the  use  of  all  this 
philosophizing  ?  A  lofty  unsullied  name  is  a  costly  article ! 
Make  your  choice,  /for  my  own  part  set  little  value  on  life. 
1  am  old,  a  victim  to  the  gout,  have  grown  too  stiff  to  ride  or 
enjoy  sport  of  any  kind,  have  lost  my  luck  with  women — there 
is  nothing  left  but  gambling.  If  I  must  give  that  up,  too,  then 
rogue  la  galere!  In  such  a  case,  there  are  but  two  paths — 
corriger  la  fortune — or  die.  But  a  Prankenberg  would  rather 
die  than  to  take  the  former."  . 

"Father!  What  are  you  saying!  Alas,  that  matters  have 
gone  so  far !  Woe  betide  a  society  that  dismisses  an  old  man 
from  its  round  of  pleasures  so  bankrupt  in  every  object,  every 
dignity,  that  no  alternative  remains  save  suicide  or  cheating  at 
the  gaming-table — unless  he  happens,  by  chance,  to  have  a 
wealthy  daughter ! " 

"  My  beloved  child  !  "  said  the  prince,  who  now  found  it 
advisable  to  adopt  a  tone  of  pathos. 

"  Pray,  say  no  more,  Father.  You  have  never  troubled 
yourself  about  your  daughter,  have  never  been  a  father  to  me 
— if  you  had,  you  would  not  now  stand  before  me  so  miser- 
able, so  poor  in  happiness.  This  is  past  change.  Alas,  that  I 
cannot  love  and  respect  my  father  as  I  ought — that  I  cannot 
do  what  I  am  about  to  do  more  gladly.  Yet  I  am  none  the 
less  ready  to  fulfill  my  duties  towards  you.  So  far  as  lies  in  my 


1 82  ON    THE    CROSS. 

power,  I  will  afford  you  the  possibility  of  continuing  your  piti- 
ful life  of  shams,  and  leave  it  to  your  discretion  how  far  you 
draw  upon  my  income.  It  is  fortunate  that  you  came  in  time 
— in  a  few  days  it  might  have  been  too  late.  I  see  now  that 
I  must  not  give  up  my  large  income  so  long  as  my  father 
needs  the  money.  My  dreams  of  a  late,  but  pure  happiness 
are  shattered!  You  will  understand  that  one  needs  time  to 
recover  from  such  a  blow  and  pardon  my  painful  excitement." 

She  rose,  with  pallid  face  and  trembling  limbs:  "  I  will 
place  the  papers  necessary  to  raise  the  money  in  your  hands 
early  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  will  forget  this  painful  scene 
sooner  than  I." 

"You  have  paid  me  few  compliments — but  I  shall  bear  no 
malice — you  are  nervous  to-day,  my  fair  daughter.  And  even 
if  you  do  not  bestow  your  aid  in  the  most  generous  way, 
nevertheless  you  help  me.  Let  me  kiss  your  liberal  hand ! 
Ah,  it  is  exactly  like  your  mother's.  When  I  think  that  those 
slender,  delicate  fingers  have  been  laid  in  the  coarse  fist  of 
Heaven  knows  what  plebeian,  I  think  great  credit  is  due  me —  " 

"Do  not  go  on!"  interrupted  the  countess,  imperiously. 
"  I  think  I  have  done  my  duty,  Papa — but  the  measure  is  full, 
and  I  earnestly  entreat  you  to  let  me  rest  to-day." 

"  It  is  the  fate  of  fathers  to  let  their  daughters  rule  them," 
replied  the  prince  in  a  jesting  tone.  "Well,  it  is  better  to  be 
ill-treated  by  a  daughter  than  by  a  sweetheart.  You  see  I, 
too,  have  some  moral  impulses,  since  I  have  been  in  your 
strict  society.  May  the  father  whom  you  judge  so  harshly  be 
permitted  to  kiss  your  forehead  ?  " 

The  countess  silently  submitted — but  a  shudder  ran  through 
her  frame  as  if  the  touch  had  defiled  her.  She  felt  that  it  was 
the  Judas  kiss  of  the  world,  not  the  caress  of  a  father. 

The  prince  wiped  his  mouth  with  a  sensation  of  secret 
disgust.  "  Who  knows  what  lips  have  touched  that  brow  to- 
day?" He  dared  not  think  of  it,  or  it  would  make  him  ill. 

"  Ma  chere,  however  deeply  I  am  indebted  to  you,  1  must 
assert  my  paternal  rights  a  few  minutes.  You  have  said  so 
many  bitter  things,  whose  justice  I  will  not  deny,  that  you 
will  permit  me  to  utter  a  few  truthful  words  also."  Fixing  his 
eyes  upon  her  with  a  stern,  cold  gaze,  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
placing  a  marked  emphasis  on  every  word:  "  We  have  carried 


t  PRISONED.  183 

matters  very  far — you  and  I — the  last  of  the  ancient  Pranken- 
berg  race !  A  pretty  pair !  the  father  a  bankrupt,  and  the 
daughter — on  the  eve  of  marrying  a  peasant." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  deadly  pale,  stood  leaning  with 
compressed  lips  on  the  back  of  her  armchair. 

The  prince  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  We  may 
both  say  that  to-day  each  has  saved  the  other!  This  is  my 
reparation  for  the  humiliating  role  fate  has  forced  upon  me  in 
your  presence.  Am  I  not  right  ?  Good-night,  my  queenly 
daughter — and  I  hope  you  bear  me  no  ill-will." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


PRISONED. 

The  prince  had  left  the  room,  and  she  heard  him  walk 
through  the  work-shop.  Silence  fell  upon  the  house  and  the 
street.  The  tortured  woman,  utterly  exhausted,  sank  upon 
her  bed — her  feet  would  support  her  no  longer.  But  she 
could  get  no  rest ;  an  indescribable  grief  filled  her  heart. 
Everything  had  happened  precisely  as  Freyer  had  predicted. 
Before  the  cock  crowed,  she  had  thrice  betrayed  him,  be- 
trayed him  in  the  very  hour  when  she  had  sworn  fidelity.  At 
the  first  step  she  was  to  take  on  the  road  of  life  with  the  man 
she  loved,  at  the  first  glance  from  the  basilisk  eyes  of  conven- 
tional prejudice,  she  shrank  back  like  a  coward  and  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  to  acknowledge  him.  This  was  her  purifi- 
cation, this  the  effect  of  a  feeling  which,  as  she  believed,  had 
power  to  conquer  the  world?  Everything  was  false — she  de- 
spaired of  all  things — of  her  future,  of  herself,  of  the  power 
Of  Christianity,  which  she,  like  all  new  converts,  expected 
would  have  the  might  to  transform  sinners  into  saints  in  a 
single  moment.  One  thing  alone  remained  unchanged,  one 
image  only  was  untouched  by  any  tinge  of  baseness  amid  the 
turmoil  of  emotions  seething  in  her  heart — Freyer.  He  alone 
could  save  her — she  must  go  to  him.  Springing  from  her  bed 
she  hurried  into  the  work-shop.  "  Where  is  your  son  ?  "  she 
asked  Andreas  Gross,  who  was  just  preparing  to  retire. 


184  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  in  his  room,  Countess." 

"  Bring  him  to  me  at  once." 

"  Certainly,  Countess." 

"  Shall  I  undress  Your  Highness  ?  "  asked  Josepha,  who 
was  still  waiting  for  her  orders. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  eyes  rested  on  the  girl  with  a 
searching  expression,  as  if  she  saw  her  now  for  the  first  time. 
Was  she  faithful — as  faithful  as  a  maid  must  be  to  make  it 
possible  to  carry  out  the  plan  her  father  had  suggested  ?  Jo- 
sepha gazed  steadily  into  the  countess'  eyes,  her  frank  face 
expressed  nothing  but  innocent  wonder  at  so  long  a  scrutiny. 
"Yes — you  are  faithful,"  said  the  countess  at  last — "are  you 
not?" 

"  Certainly,  Countess,"  replied  the  girl,  evidently  surprised 
that  she  needed  to  give  the  assurance. 

"You  know  what  unhappiness  means?" 

"  I  think  so !  "  said  Josepha,  with  bitter  emphasis. 

"  Then  you  would  aid  the  unhappy  so  far  as  you  were 
able  ?  " 

"  It  would  depend  upon  \vho  it  was,"  answered  Josepha, 
brusquely,  but  the  rudeness  pleased  the  countess;  it  was  a 
proof  of  character,  and  character  is  a  guarantee  of  trustworthi- 
ness. "  If  it  were  I,  Josepha,  could  I  depend  upon  you  in 
any  situation  ?  " 

"  Certainly !  "  the  girl  answered  simply — "  I  live  only  for 
you — otherwise  I  would  far  rather  be  under  the  sod.  What 
have  I  to  live  for  except  you  ?  " 

"I  believe,  Josepha,  that  I  now  know  the  reason  Provi 
dence  sent  me  to  you!"  murmured  her  mistress,  lost  in 
thought. 

Ludwig  Gross  entered.     "  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ?" 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  silently  took  his  hand  and  drew 
him  into  her  room. 

"  Oh,  Ludwig,  what  things  I  have  been  compelled  to  hear 
— what  sins  I  have  committed — what  suffering  I  have  en- 
dured ! "  She  laid  her  arm  on  the  shoulder  of  the  faithful 
friend,  like  a  child  pleading  for  aid.  "  What  time  is  it,  Lud- 
wig ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "I  was  asleep  when  my 
father  called  me,  I  wandered  about  looking  for  you  and 


,  PRISONED.  185 

Freyer  until  about  an  hour  ago.  Then  weariness  overpowered 
me."  He  drew  out  his  watch.  "  It  is  half  past  ten." 

"Take  me  to  Freyer,  Ludwig.  I  must  see  him  this  very 
day.  Oh,  my  friend!  let  me  wash  myself  clean  in  your  soul, 
for  I  feel  as  if  the  turbid  surges  of  the  world  had  soiled  me 
with  their  mire." 

Ludwig  Gross  passed  his  arm  lightly  about  her  shoulders 
as  if  to  protect  her  from  the  unclean  element.  "  Come,"  he 
said  soothingly,  "  I  will  take  you  to  Freyer.  Or  would  you 
prefer  to  have  me  bring  him  here  ?  " 

"  No,  he  would  not  come  now.  I  must  go  to  him.  for  I 
have  done  something  for  which  I  must  atone — there  can  be  no 
delay." 

Ludwig  hurriedly  wrapped  her  in  a  warm  shawl.  "You 
will  be  ill  from  this  continual  excitement,"  he  said  anxiously, 
but  without  trying  to  dissuade  her.  "Take  my  arm,  you  are 
tottering." 

They  left  the  house  before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished 
Gross  family.  "  She  is  a  very  singular  woman,"  said  Sephi, 
shaking  her  head.  "  She  gives  herself  no  rest  night  or  day." 

It  was  only  five  days  since  the  evening  that  Madeleine  von 
Wildenau  had  walked,  as  now,  through  the  sleeping  village, 
and  how  much  she  had  experienced. 

She  had  found  the  God  whom  she  was  seeking — she  had 
gazed  into  his  eyes,  she  had  recognized  divine,  eternal  love, 
and  had  perceived  that  she  was  not  worthy  of  it.  So  she 
moved  proudly,  yet  humbly  on,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her 
friend,  to  the  street  where  a  thrill  of  reverence  had  stirred  her 
whole  being  when  Andreas  Gross  said,  "  That  is  the  way  to 
the  dwelling  of  the  Christ." 

The  house  stood  across  the  end  of  the  street.  This  time 
no  moonbeams  lighted  the  way.  The  damp  branches  of  the 
trees  rustled  mournfully  above  them  in  the  darkness.  Only  a 
single  window  on  the  ground  floor  of  Freyer's  house  was 
lighted,  and  the  wavering  rays  marked  the  way  for  the  pair. 
They  reached  it  and  looked  in.  Freyer  was  sitting  on  a 
wooden  stool  by  the  table,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand, 
absorbed  in  sorrowful  thought.  A  book  lay  before  him,  which 
he  had  perhaps  intended  to  read,  but  evidently  had  not  done 
so,  for  he  was  gazing  wearily  into  vacancy. 


1 86  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  stepped  softly  in  through  the  un- 
fastened door.  Ludwig  Gross  waited  for  her  outside.  As  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  room  Freyer  looked  up  in  astonish- 
ment. "  You  ?  "  he  said,  and  his  eyes  rested  full  upon  her 
with  a  questioning  gaze — but  he  rose  with  dignity,  instead  of 
rushing  to  meet  her,  as  he  would  formerly  have  greeted  the 
woman  he  loved,  had  she  suddenly  appeared  before  him. 

"  Countess — what  does  this  visit  mean — at  this  hour  ?  "  he 
asked,  mournfully,  offering  her  a  chair.  "  Did  you  come 
alone  ?  " 

"  Ludwig  brought  me  and  is  waiting  outside  for  me — I 
have  only  a  few  words  to  say." 

"  But  it  will  not  do  to  leave  our  friend  standing  outside. 
You  will  allow  me  to  call  him  in  ?  " 

"  Do  so,  you  will  then  have  the  satisfaction  of  having  a 
witness  of  my  humiliation,"  said  the  countess,  quietly. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  did  not  think  of  that  interpretation !  " 
murmured  Freyer,  seating  himself. 

"  May  I  ask  your  Highness'  commands  ?  " 

"  Joseph — to  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  " 

"  To  the  Countess  Wildenau  !  " 

She  knelt  beside  him :  "  Joseph  !  Am  I  still  the  Countess 
Wildenau  ?  " 

"  Your  Highness,  pray  spare  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  starting 
up.  "  All  this  can  alter  nothing.  You  remain — what  you 
are,  and  I — what  I  am !  This  was  deeply  graven  on  my 
heart  to-night,  and  nothing  can  efface  it."  He  spoke  with 
neither  anger  nor  reproach — simply  like  a  man  who  has  lost 
what  was  dearest  to  him  on  earth. 

"  If  that  is  true,  I  can  certainly  do  nothing  except  go 
again!  "  she  replied,  turning  toward  the  door.  "  But  answer 
for  it  to  God  for  having  thrust  me  forth  unheard." 

"  Nay,  Countess,  pray,  speak  !  "  said  Freyer,  kindly.  She 
looked  at  him  so  beseechingly  that  his  heart  melted  with  un- 
utterable pain.  "  Come — and — tell  me  what  weighs  upon 
your  heart !  "  he  added  in  a  gentler  tone. 

"  Not  until  you  again  call  me  your  dove — or  your  child." 

Tears  filled  his  eyes,  "  My  child — what  have  you  done  !  " 

"  That  is  right — I  can  speak  now !  What  have  I  done, 
Joseph  ?  What  you  saw ;  and  still  worse.  I  not  only  treated 


»  PRISONED.  187 

you  coldly  and  distantly  in  my  father's  presence,  I  afterwards^ 
disowned  you  three  times — and  I  come  to  tell  you  so  because 
you  alone  can  and — 1  know — will  forgive  me." 

Freyer  had  clasped  his  hands  upon  his  knee  and  was  gaz- 
ing into  vacancy.  Madeleine  continued :  "  You  see,  I  have 
so  lofty  an  opinion  of  you,  and  of  your  love,  that  I  do  not  try 
to  justify  myself.  I  will  only  remind  you  of  the  words  you 
yourself  said  to-day  :  '  May  you  never  be  forced  to  weep  the 
tears  which  Peter  shed  when  the  cock  crowed  for  the  third 
time.'  I  will  recall  what  must  have  induced  Christ  to  forgive 
Peter:  'He  knew  the  disciple's  heart !'  Joseph — do  you  not 
also  know  the  heart  of  your  Magdalena  ?  " 

A  tremor  ran  through  the  strong  man's  frame  and,  unable 
to  utter  a  word,  he  threw  his  arm  around  her  and  his  head 
drooped  on  her  breast. 

"  Joseph,  you  are  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  the  bonds 
with  which  it  fetters  even  the  freest  souls.  Therefore  you 
must  believe  in  me !  It  will  often  happen  that  I  shall  be 
forced  to  do  something  incomprehensible  to  you.  If  you  did 
not  then  have  implicit  faith  in  me,  we  could  never  live  happily 
together.  This  very  day  I  had  resolved  to  break  with  society, 
strip  off  all  its  chains.  But  no  matter  how  many  false  and 
culpable  ideas  it  has — its  principles,  nevertheless,  rest  upon  a 
foundation  of  morality.  That  is  why  it  can  impose  its  fetters 
upon  the  very  persons  who  have  nothing  in  common  with  its 
immoral  side.  Nay,  were  it  merely  an  immoral  power  it 
would  be  easy,  in  a  moment  of  pious  enthusiasm,  to  shake  off 
its  thrall — but  when  we  are  just  on  the  eve  of  doing  so,  when 
we  believe  ourselves  actually  free,  it  throws  around  our  feet 
the  snare  of  a  duty  and  we  are  prisoned  anew.  Such  was  my 
experience  to-day  with  my  father!  I  should  have  been  com- 
pelled to  sunder  every  tie,  had  I  told  him  the  truth !  I  was 
too  weak  to  provoke  the  terrible  catastrophe — and  deferred  it, 
by  disowning  you." 

Freyer  quivered  with  pain. 

She  stroked  his  clenched  hand  caressingly.  "  I  know 
what  this  must  be.  I  know  how  the  proud  man  must  rebel 
when  the  woman  he  loved  did  that.  But  I  also  expect  my 
angel  to  know  what  it  cost  me !  " 

She  gently  tried  to  loose  his  clenched  fingers,  which  grad- 


1 88  ON   THE   CROSS. 

ually  yielded  till  the  open  hand  lay  soft  and  unresisting  in  her 
own.  "  Look  at  me,"  she  continued  in  her  sweet,  melting 
tones :  "  look  at  my  pallid  face,  my  eyes  reddened  with  weep- 
ing— and  then  answer  whether  I  have  suffered  during  these 
hours  ?  " 

"  I  do  see  it !  "  said  Freyer,  gently. 

"  Dear  husband !  I  come  to  you  with  my  great  need, 
with  my  great  love — and  my  great  guilt.  Will  you  thrust  me 
from  you  ?  " 

He  could  hold  out  no  longer,  but  with  loving  generosity 
clasped  the  pleading  woman  to  his  heart. 

"  I  knew  it,  you  are  the  embodiment  of  goodness,  gentle- 
ness— love !  You  will  have  patience  with  your  weak,  sinful 
wife — you  will  ennoble  and  sanctify  her,  and  not  despair  if  it  is 
a  long  time  ere  the  work  is  completed.  You  promise,  do  you 
not?"  she  murmured  fervently  amid  her  kisses,  breathing 
into  his  inmost  life  the  ardent  pleading  of  her  remorse. 

And,  with  a  solemn  vow,  he  promised  never  to  be  angry 
with  her  again,  never  to  desert  her  until  she  herself  sent  him 
away. 

She  had  conquered — he  trusted  her  once  more.  And  now 
— she  must  profit  by  this  childlike  confidence. 

"  I  thank  you !  "  she  said,  after  a  long  silence.  "  Now  I 
shall  have  courage  to  ask  you  a  serious  question.  But  let  us 
send  home  the  friend  who  is  waiting  outside,  you  can  take  me 
back  yourself." 

"  Certainly,  my  child,"  said  Freyer,  smiling,  and  went  out 
to  seek  Ludwig.  "  He  was  satisfied,"  he  said  returning. 
"  Now  speak — and  tell  me  everything  that  weighs  upon  your 
heart — no  one  can  hear  us  save  God."  And  he  drew  her 
into  a  loving  embrace. 

"  Joseph,"  the  countess  began  in  an  embarrassed  tone. 
"  The  decisive  hour  has  come  sooner  than  I  expected  and  I 
am  compelled  to  ask,  '  Will  you  be  my  husband — but  only 
before  God,  not  men.'  " 

Freyer  drew  back  a  step.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Will  you  listen  to  me  quietly,  dearest  ?  "  she  asked, 
gently. 

"  Speak,  my  child." 

"  Joseph  !  I  promised  to-day  to  become  your  wife — and  I 


PRISONED.  189 

will  keep  the  pledge,  but  our  marriage  must  be  a  secret 
one." 

"And  why?" 

"  My  husband's  will  disinherits  me,  as  soon  as  I  give  up 
the  name  of  Wildenau.  If  I  marry  you,  I  shall  be  dependent 
upon  the  generosity  of  my  husband's  cousins,  who  succeed  me 
as  his  heirs,  and  they  are  not  even  obliged  to  give  me  an  an- 
nuity— so  I  shall  be  little  better  than  a  beggar." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  What  does  it  matter  ?  Am  I  not  able 
to  support  my  wife — that  is,  if  she  can  be  satisfied  with  the 
modest  livelihood  a  poor  wood-carver  like  myself  can  offer  ?  " 

The  countess,  deeply  touched,  smiled.  "  I  knew  that  you 
would  say  so.  But,  my  angel,  that  would  only  do,  if  I  had 
no  other  duties.  But,  you  see,  this  is  one  of  the  snares  with 
which  the  world  draws  back  those  who  endeavor  to  escape 
its  spell.  I  have  a  father — an  unhappy  man  whom  I  can 
neither  respect  nor  love — a  type  of  the  brilliant  misery,  the 
hollow  shams,  to  which  so  many  lives  in  our  circle  fall  victims, 
a  gambler,  a  spendthrift,  but  still  my  father  I  He  asks  pecuni- 
ary aid  which  I  can  render  only  if  I  remain  the  Countess 
Wildenau.  Dare  I  be  happy  and  let  my  father  go  to  ruin  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  groaned  Freyer,  whose  head  sank  like  a  felled 
tree  on  the  arms  which  rested  folded  on  the  table. 

"  Then  what  is  left  to  us — my  beloved,  save  separation  or 
a  secret  marriage  ?  Surely  we  would  not  profane  the  miracle 
which  God  has  wrought  in  us  by  any  other  course  ?  " 

«  No — never ! " 

"  Well — then  I  must  say  to  you  :  '  choose ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !  this  is  terrible.  I  must  not  be  allowed  to 
assert  my  sacred  rights  before  men — must  live  like  a  dishon- 
ored man  under  ban  ?  And  where  and  when  could  we 
meet  ?  " 

"  Joseph — I  can  offer  you  the  position  of  steward  of  my 
estates,  which  will  enable  us  to  live  together  constantly  and 
meet  without  the  least  restraint.  I  can  recompense  you  a 
hundredfold,  for  what  you  resign  here,  my  property  shall  be 
yours,  as  well  as  all  that  I  am  and  have — you  shall  «iiss  noth- 
ing save  outward  appearances,  the  triumph  of  appearing  be- 
fore the  world  as  the  husband  of  the  Countess  Wildenau." 

"  Oh !  God,  Thou  art  my  witness  that  no  such  thought 


190  ON    THE    CROSS. 

ever  entered  my  heart.  If  you  were  poor  and  miserable, 
starving  by  the  wayside,  I  would  raise  you  and  bear  you 
proudly  in  my  arms  into  my  house.  If  you  were  blind  and 
lame,  ill  and  deserted,  I  would  watch  and  cherish  you  day 
and  night — nay,  it  would  be  my  delight  to  work  for  you  and 
earn,  by  my  own  industry,  the  bread  you  eat !  When  I 
brought  it,  I  would  offer  it  on  my  knees  and  kiss  your  dear 
hands  for  accepting  it.  But  your  servant,  your  hireling,  I 
cannot  be !  Tell  me  yourself — could  you  still  love  me  if  I 
were  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  my  love  is  eternal,! " 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself;  you  have  loved  me  as  a  poor, 
but  free  citizen  of  Ammergau — as  your  paid  servant  you  would 
despise  me." 

"  You  shall  not  be  my  servant — it  is  merely  necessary  to 
find  some  pretext  before  the  world  which  will  render  it  possi- 
ble for  us  to  be  constantly  together  without  exciting  suspicion 
— and  the  office  of  a  steward  is  this  pretext !  " 

"  Twist  and  turn  it  as  you  will — I  shall  eat  your  bread, 
and  be  your  subordinate.  Oh,  Heaven,  I  was  so  proud  and 
am  now  so  terribly  humiliated — so  suddenly  hurled  from  the 
height  to  which  you  had  raised  me !  " 

"  It  will  be  no  humiliation  to  accept  what  my  love 
bestows  and  my  superabundance  shares  with  you." 

"  It  is,  and  I  could  be  your  husband  only  on  the  condition 
that  I  might  continue  to  work  and  earn  my  own  support." 

"  Oh !  the  envious  arrogance  of  the  poor,  who  grudge  the 
rich  the  noblest  privilege — that  of  doing  good.  Believe  me, 
true  pride  would  be  to  say  to  yourself  that  your  noble  nature 
a  thousand  times  outweighed  the  petty  sacrifice  of  worldly 
goods  which  I  could  make  for  you.  He  who  scorns  money 
can  accept  it  from  others  because  he  knows  that  the  outward 
gift  is  valueless,  compared  with  the  treasures  of  happiness  love 
can  offer.  Or  do  you  feel  so  poor  In  love  that  you  could  not 
pay  me  the  trivial  debt  for  the  bit  of  bread  I  furnished  ? 
Then  indeed — let  me  with  my  wealth  languish  in  my  dearth 
of  happiness  and  boast  that  you  sacrificed  to  your  pride  the 
most  faithful  of  women — but  do  not  say  that  you  loved  the 
woman ! " 

"  My  dove !  " 


PRISONED.  191 

"  I  am  doing  what  I  can !  "  she  continued,  mournfully,  "  I 
am  offering  you  myself,  my  soul,  my  freedom,  my  future — and 
you  are  considering  whether  it  will  not  degrade  you  to  eat  my 
bread  and  be  apparently  my  servant,  while  in  rea!ity  you  are 
my  master  and  my  judge. — I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  you 
shall  have  your  will,  but  decide  quickly,  for  what  is  to  be 
done  must  be  done  at  once.  My  father  himself  (when  he  per- 
ceived that  I  really  intended  to  marry)  advised  me  to  be 
wedded  by  our  old  pastor  at  Prankenberg.  But  I  know  my 
father,  and  am  aware  that  he  was  only  luring  me  into  a  trap. 
He  will  receive  from  me  to-morrow  a  power  of  attorney  to 
raise  some  money  he  needs — the  day  after  he  will  invent  some 
new  device  to  keep  me  in  his  power.  We  must  take  the  pastor 
at  Prankenberg  by  surprise  before  he  can  prevent  it.  Now 
decide ! " 

"  Omnipotent  God !  "  exclaimed  Freyer.  "  What  shall  I, 
what  must  I  do  ?  Oh !  my  love,  I  ought  not  to  desert  you — 
and  even  if  I  ought — I  could  not,  for  I  could  no  longer  live 
without  you !  You  know  that  I  must  take  what  you  offer, 
and  that  my  fate  will  be  what  you  assign!  But,  dearest,  how 
1  shall  endure  to  be  your  husband  and  yet  regarded  as  your 
servant,  I  know  not.  If  you  could  let  this  cup  pass  from  me, 
it  would  be  far  better  for  us  both." 

"  And  did  God  spare  the  Saviour  the  cup  ?  Was  Christ 
too  proud  to  take  upon  Him  His  cross  and  His  ignominy, 
while  you — cannot  even  bear  the  yoke  your  wife  imposes,  is 
forced  to  impose  ?  " 

He  bowed  his  head  to  the  earth.  Tears  sparkled  in  his 
radiant  eyes,  he  was  once  more  the  Christ.  As  his  dark  eyes 
rested  upon  her  in  the  dim  light  diffused  by  the  lamp,  with  all 
the  anguish  of  the  Crucified  Redeemer,  Madeleine  von  Wil- 
denau  again  felt  a  thrill  of  awe  in  the  presence  of  something 
supernatural — a  creature  belonging  to  some  middle  realm,  half 
spirit,  half  mortal — and  the  perception  that  he  could  never 
belong  wholly  to  the  earth,  never  wholly  to  her.  She  could 
not  explain  this  feeling,  he  was  so  kind,  so  self-sacrificing. 
Had  she  had  any  idea  that  such  a  man  was  destined  to  absorb 
us,  not  we  him,  the  mystery  would  have  been  solved.  What 
she  was  doing  was  precisely  the  reverse.  His  existence  must 


IQ2  ON   THE    CROSS. 

be  sacrificed  to  hers — and  she  had  a  vague  suspicion  that  this 
was  contrary  to  the  laws  of  his  noble,  privileged  nature. 

But  he,  unconscious  of  himself,  in  his  modest  simplicity, 
only  knew  that  he  must  love  the  countess  to  the  end — and 
deemed  it  only  just  that  he  should  purchase  the  measureless 
happiness  of  calling  this  woman  his  by  an  equally  boundless 
sacrifice.  The  appeal  to  Christ  had  suddenly  made  him  believe 
that  God  proposed  to  give  him  the  opportunity  to  continue  in 
life  the  part  of  a  martyr  which  he  was  no  longer  permitted  to 
play  on  the  stage.  The  terrible  humiliation  imposed  by  the 
woman  whom  he  loved  was  to  be  the  cross  received  in  exchange 
for  the  one  he  had  resigned. 

"  Very  well,  then,  for  the  sake  of  Christ's  humility !  "  he 
said,  sadly,  as  if  utterly  crushed.  "  Give  me  whatever  position 
you  choose,  but  I  fear  you  will  discover  too  late  that  you  have 
robbed  yourself  of  the  best  love  I  have  to  bestow.  Your 
nature  is  not  one  which  can  love  a  vassal.  You  will  be  like 
the  children  who  tear  off  the  butterfly's  wings  and  then — 
throw  aside  the  crawling  worm  with  loathing.  My  wings 
were  my  moral  freedom  and  my  self-respect.  At  this  moment 
I  have  lost  them,  for  I  am  only  a  weak,  love-sick  man  who 
must  do  whatever  an  irresistible  woman  requires.  It  is  no  free 
moral  act,  as  is  usual  when  a  man  exchanges  an  equal  existence 
with  his  chosen  wife. 

"  If  you  think  that,  Joseph,"  said  the  countess,  turning 
pale,  "  it  will  certainly  be  better — for  me  to  leave  you."  She 
turned  with  dignity  toward  the  door. 

"Yes,  go!"  he  cried  in  wild  anguish — "go!  Yet  you 
know  that  you  will  take  me  with  you,  like  the  crown  of  thorns 
you  dragged  caught  in  the  hem  of  your  dress  !  "  He  threw 
himself  on  his  knees  at  her  feet.  "  What  am  I  ?  Your  slave. 
In  Heaven's  name,  be  my  mistress  and  take  me.  I  place  my 
soul  in  your  keeping — I  trust  it  to  your  generosity — but  woe 
betide  us  both,  if  you  do  not  give  me  yours  in  return.  I  ask 
nothing  save  your  soul — but  that  I  want  wholly." 

The  exultant  woman  clasped  him  in  a  passionate  embrace: 
"  Yes,  give  yourself  a  prisoner  to  me,  and,  trust  your  fate  to 
my  hands.  I  will  be  a  gentle  mistress  to  you — you,  beloved 
slave,  you  shall  not  be  more  mine  than  I  am  yours — that  is, 
wholly  and  forever." 


FLYING   FROM   THE   CROSS.  193 

CHAPTER  XVII. 


FLYING    FROM   THE    CROSS. 

The  burgomaster  went  to  the  office  every  morning  at  six 
o'clock,  for  the  work  to  be  accomplished  during  the  day  was 
very  great  and  required  an  early  beginning.  Freyer  usually 
arrived  about  seven  to  share  the  task  with  him.  On  Fridays, 
however,  he  often  commenced  his  labor  before  the  energetic 
burgomaster.  It  was  on  that  day  that  the  rush  upon  the 
ticket  office  began,  and  every  one's  hands  were  filled. 

But  to-day  Freyer  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry.  It  was  after 
seven — he  ought  to  have  arrived  long  before.  He  had  been 
absent  yesterday,  too.  The  stranger  must  have  taken  complete 
possession  of  him.  The  burgomaster  shook  his  head — Frey- 
er's  conduct  since  the  countess'  arrival,  had  not  pleased  him. 
He  had  never  neglected  his  duties  to  the  community.  And 
at  the  very  time  when  the  Passion  Play  had  attained  unpre- 
cedented success.  How  could  any  one  think  of  anything 
else — anything  personal,  especially  the  man  who  took  the  part 
of  the  Christ !  There  were  heaps  of  orders  lying  piled 
before  him,  how  could  they  be  disposed  of,  if  Freyer  did  not 
help. 

This  countess  was  a  beautiful  woman — and  probably  a 
fascinating  one.  But  to  the  burgomaster  there  was  but  one 
beauty — that  of  the  angel  of  his  home.  High  above  the  tur- 
moil of  the  crowd,  in  quiet,  aristocratic  seclusion,  the  lonely 
man  sat  at  his  desk  in  his  bare,  plain  office.  But  the  angel  oi 
Ammergau  visited  him  here ;  he  leaned  his  weary  head  upon 
His  breast,  His  kiss  rewarded  his  unselfish  labor,  His  radiance 
illumined  the  unassuming  citizen.  No  house  was  so  poor  and 
insignificant  that  at  this  season  the  angel  of  Ammergau  did 
not  take  up  His  abode  within  and  shed  upon  it  His  own  sanctity 
and  dignity.  But  to  him  who  was  the  personification  of  Am- 
mergau, the  man  who  was  obliged  to  care  for  everything — 
watch  over  everything — bear  the  responsibility  of  everything, 
to  him  the  angel  brought  the  reward  which  men  cannot  give 
— the  proud  consciousness  of  what  he  was  to  his  home  in  these 
toilsome  days.  But  it  was  quite  time  that  Freyer  should 
come !  The  burgomaster  rang  his  bell.  The  bailiff  entered. 

'3 


194  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  Kleinhofer,  see  where  Herr  Freyer  is — or  the  drawing- 
master.  One  of  them  can  surely  be  found." 

"  Yes,  Herr  Burgomaster."     The  man  left  the  room. 

The  burgomaster  leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  wait.  His 
eyes  rested  a  few  seconds  on  one  of  Dore's  pictures,  Christ  con- 
demned by  Pontius  Pilate.  He  involuntarily  compared  the 
engraving  with  the  grouping  on  the  stage.  "Ah,  if  we  could 
do  that!  If  living  beings,  with  massive  bones  and  clumsy 
joints,  would  be  as  pliable  as  canvas  and  brushes ! "  he 
thought,  sorrowfully.  "  Wherever  human  beings  are  employed 
there  must  be  defects  and  imperfections.  Perfection,  absolute 
beauty,  exist  only  in  the  imagination !  Yet  ought  not  an  in- 
flexible stage  manager,  by  following  the  lines  of  the  work  of 
art,  to  succeed  in  shaping  even  the  rudest  material  into  the 
artistic  idea." 

"  Much — much  remains  to  be  done,"  said  the  singular 
stage  manager  in  pitiless  self-criticism,  resting  his  head  on  his 
hand.  "  When  one  thinks  of  what  the  Meininger  company 
accomplishes !  But  of  course  they  work  with  artists — I  with 
natural  talent !  Then  we  are  restricted  in  alloting  the  parts  by 
dilettante  traditional  models — and,  worst  of  all,  by  antiquated 
statutes  and  prejudices.  The  vision  of  Josepha  Freyer  rose 
before  him,  he  keenly  felt  the  blow  inflicted  on  the  Passion 
Play  when  the  beautiful  girl,  the  very  type  of  Mary  Magda- 
lene, was  excluded.  "The  whole  must  suffer  under  such  circum- 
stances !  The  actors  cannot  be  chosen  according  to  talent 
and  individuality;  these  things  are  a  secondary  consideration. 
The  first  is  the  person's  standing  in  the  community  !  A  poor 
servant  would  be  allowed  to  play  only  an  inferior  part,  even  if 
he  possessed  the  greatest  talent,  and  the  principal  ones  are 
the  monopoly  of  the  influential  citizens.  From  a  contingent 
thus  arbitrarily  limited  the  manager  is  compelled  to  distribute 
the  characters  for  the  great  work,  which  demands  the  highest 
powers.  It  is  a  gigantic  labor,  but  it  will  be  accomplished, 
nothing  is  needed  save  patience  and  an  iron  will !  They  will 
grow  with  their  task.  The  increasing  success  of  the  Passion 
Play  will  teach  them  to  understand  how  important  it  is  that 
artistic  interests  should  supersede  all  others.  Then  golden 
hours  will  first  dawn  on  Ammergau.  May  God  permit  me  to 
witness  it!  "  he  added.  And  he  confidently  hoped  to  do  so; 


FLYING   FROM   THE   CROSS.  195 

for  there  was  no  lack  of  talent,  and  with  a  few  additions  great 
results  might  be  accomplished.  This  year  the  success  of  the 
Play  was  secured  by  Freyer,  who  made  the  audience  for- 
get all  less  skilful  performers.  With  him  the  Passion 
Play  of  the  present  year  would  stand  or  fall.  The  burgo- 
master's eyes  rested  with  a  look  of  compassion  upon  the 
Christ  of  Dore"  and  the  Christ  personated  by  Freyer,  as  it 
hovered  before  his  memory— and  Freyer  bore  the  test.  He 
had  come  from  the  hand  of  his  Creator  a  living  work  of  art, 
perfect  in  every  detail.  "  Thank  Heaven  that  we  have  him !  " 
murmured  the  burgomaster,  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  "  At  last,"  said  the  burgo- 
master :  "  Come  in  !  " 

It  was  not  the  person  whom  he  expected,  but  Ludwig 
Gross  i 

He  tottered  forward  as  if  his  feet  refused  to  obey  his  will. 
His  grave  face  was  waxen-yellow  in  its  hue  and  deeply  lined 
—his  lips  were  tightly  compressed — drops  of  perspiration  glit- 
tered on  his  brow. 

The  burgomaster  glanced  at  him  in  alarm  :  "What  is  it? 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

Ludwig  Gross  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  "  Be  prepared 
for  bad  news." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  cannot  *;he  performance  take  place  ? 
We  have  sold  more  than  a  thousand  tickets." 

"  That  would  be  the  least  difficulty.  Be  strong,  Herr 
Burgomaster — I  have  a  great  misfortune  to  announce." 

"Has  it  anything  to  do  with  Freyer?"  exclaimed  the 
magistrate,  with  sudden  foreboding. 

"  Freyer  has  gone — with  Countess  Wildenau ! " 

"  Run  away  ?  "  cried  the  burgomaster,  inexorably  giving 
the  act  the  right  name. 

"  Yes,  I  have  just  found  these  lines  on  his  table." 

The  burgomaster  turned  pale  as  if  he  had  received  a 
mortal  wound.  A  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to  echo  in  his  ears 
— the  thunder  which  had  shattered  the  temple  of  Jerusalem, 
whose  priest  he  was !  The  walls  fell,  the  veil  was  rent  and 
revealed  the  place  of  execution.  Golgotha  lay  before  him. 
He  heard  the  rustling  wings  of  the  departing  guardian  angel 
of  Ammergau.  High  above,  in  terrible  solitude,  towered  the 


196  ON   THE   CROSS. 

cross,  but  it  was  empty — he  who  should  hang  upon  it — had 
vanished !  Grey  clouds  gathered  around  the  desolate  scene. 

But  from  the  empty  cross  issued  a  light — not  a  halo,  but 
like  the  livid,  phosphorescent  glimmer  of  rotten  wood  !  It 
shone  into  a  chasm  where,  from  a  jutting  rock,  towered  a 
single  tree,  upon  which  hung,  faithful  to  his  task — Judas ! 

A  peal  of  jeering  laughter  rose  from  the  depths.  "You 
have  killed  yourself  in  vain.  Your  victim  has  escaped.  See 
the  conscientious  Judas,  who  hung  himself,  while  the  other  is 
having  a  life  of  pleasure!  " 

Shame  and  disgrace  !  "  The  Christ  has  fled  from  the 
cross."  Malicious  voices  echo  far  and  wide,  cynicism  exults 
— baseness  has  conquered,  the  divine  has  become  a  laughing- 
stock for  children — the  Passion  Play  a  travesty. 

The  phosphorescent  wood  of  the  cross  glimmered  before 
the  burgomaster's  eyes.  Aye,  it  was  rotten  and  mouldering — 
this  cross — it  must  crumble— the  corruption  of  the  world  had 
infected  and  undermined  it,  and  this  had  happened  in  Ober- 
ammergau — under  his  management. 

The  unfortunate  man,  through  whose  brain  this  chain  of 
thoughts  was  whirling,  sat  like  a  stone  statue  before  his 
friend,  who  stood  waiting  modestly,  without  disturbing  his 
grief  by  a  single  word. 

What  the  two  men  felt — each  knew — was  too  great  for 
utterance. 

The  burgomaster  was  mechanically  holding  Freyer's  letter 
in  his  clenched  hand.  Now  his  cold,  stiff  fingers  reminded  him 
of  it.  He  laid  it  on  the  table,  his  eyes  resting  dully  on  the  large 
childish  characters  of  the  unformed  hand :  "  Forgive  me ! " 
ran  the  brief  contents.  "  I  am  no  longer  worthy  to  personate 
the  Saviour !  Not  from  lack  of  principle,  but  on  account  of  it 
do  I  resign  my  part.  Ere  you  read  these  lines,  I  shall  be  far 
away  from  here  !  God  will  not  make  His  sacred  cause  depend 
upon  any  individual — He  will  supply  my  place  to  you  !  For- 
get me,  and  forgive  the  renegade  whose  heart  will  be  faithful 
to  you  unto  death!  FREYER!" 

Postscript : 

"  Sell  my  property — the  house,  the  field,  and  patch  of  woods 
which  was  not  burned  and  divide  the  proceeds  among  the 


fLYING    FROM    THE    CROSS.  197 

poor  of  Ammergau.  I  will  send  you  the  legal  authority  from 
the  nearest  city. 

"  Once  more,  farewell  to  all !  " 

The  burgomaster  sat  motionless,  gazing  at  the  sheet.  He 
could  have  read  it  ten  times  over — yet  he  still  stared  at  the 
lines. 

Ludwig  Gross  saw  with  terror  that  his  eyes  were  glassy, 
his  features  changed.  The  calmness  imposed  by  the  iron  will 
had  become  the  rigidity  of  death.  The  drawing-master  shook 
him — now,  in  the  altered  position,  the  inert  body  lost  its  bal- 
ance and  fell  against  the  back  of  the  chair.  His  friend  caught 
the  tottering  figure  and  supported  the  noble  head.  It  was 
possible  for  him  to  reach  the  bell  with  his  other  hand  and 
summon  Kleinhofer.  "  The  doctor — quick — tell  him  to  come 
at  once  !  "  he  shouted.  The  man  hurried  off  in  terror. 

The  news  that  the  burgomaster  had  been  stricken  with 
apoplexy  ran  through  the  village  like  wild  fire.  Every  one 
rushed  to  the  office.  The  physician  ran  bare-headed  across 
the  street.  The  confusion  was  boundless. 

Ludwig  could  scarcely  control  the  tumult.  Supporting 
the  burgomaster  with  one  arm,  he  pushed  the  throng  back 
with  the  other.  The  doctor  could  scarcely  force  his  way 
through  the  crowded  room.  He  rubbed  the  temples  and  art- 
eries of  the  senseless  man.  "  I  don't  think  it  is  apoplexy, 
only  a  severe  congestion  of  the  brain,"  he  said,  "  but  we 
cannot  tell  what  the  result  may  be.  He  has  long  been  over- 
worked and  over-excited." 

The  remedies  applied  began  to  act,  the  burgomaster  opened 
his  eyes.  But  as  if  he  were  surrounded  by  invisible  fiends 
which,  like  wild  beasts  were  only  held  in  check  by  the  firm 
gaze  of  the  tamer  and,  ever  ready  to  spring,  were  only  watch- 
ing for  the  moment  when  they  might  wrest  from  him  the 
sacred  treasure  confided  to  his  care — his  dim  eyes  in  a  few 
seconds  regained  the  steady  flash  of  the  watchful,  imperious 
master.  And  the  discipline  which  his  unyielding  will  was 
wont  to  exert  over  his  limbs  instantly  restored  his  erect  bear- 
ing. No  one  save  the  physician  and  Ludwig  knew  what  the 
effort  cost  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor  in  a  low  tone  to  the  drawing- 


198  ON   THE   CROSS. 

master :  "  This  is  the  consequence  of  his  never  granting  him- 
self any  rest  during  these  terrible  exertions." 

The  burgomaster  had  gone  to  the  window  and  obtained  a 
little  air.  Then  he  turned  to  the  by-standers.  His  voice 
still  trembled  slightly,  but  otherwise  not  the  slightest  weakness 
was  perceptible,  and  nothing  betrayed  the  least  emotion. 

"  I  am  glad,  my  friends,  that  we  are  all  assembled — other- 
wise I  should  have  been  compelled  to  summon  you.  Is  the 
whole  parish  here  ?  We  must  hold  a  consultation  at  once. 
Kleinhofer,  count  them." 

The  man  obeyed. 

"  They  are  all  here,"  he  said. 

At  that  moment  the  burgomaster's  wife  rushed  in  with 
Anastasia.  They  had  been  in  the  fields  and  had  just  learned 
the  startling  news  of  the  illness  of  the  husband  and  brother. 

"  Pray  be  calm  !  "  he  said,  sternly.  "  There  is  nothing 
wrong  with  me — nothing  worth  mentioning." 

The  weeping  women  were  surrounded  by  their  friends  but 
the  burgomaster,  with  an  imperious  wave  of  the  hand, 
motioned  them  to  the  back  of  the  room.  "  If  you  wish  to 
listen — and  it  is  my  desire  that  you  should — keep  quiet.  We 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose."  He  turned  to  the  men  of  the 
parish. 

"  Dear  friends  and  companions !  I  have  tidings  which  I 
should  never  have  expected  a  native  of  Ammergau  would  be 
compelled  to  relate  of  a  fellow  citizen.  A  great  misfortune 
has  befallen  us.  We  no  longer  have  a  Christ !  Freyer  has 
suddenly  gone  away." 

A  cry  of  horror  and  indignation  answered  him.  A  medley 
of  shouts  and  questions  followed,  mingled  with  fierce  impreca- 
tions. 

"  Be  calm,  friends.  Do  not  revile  him.  We  do  not  know 
what  has  occurred.  True,  I  cannot  understand  how  such  a 
thing  was  possible — but  we  must  not  judge  where  we  know  no 
particulars.  At  any  rate  we  will  respect  ourselves  by  speaking 
no  evil  of  one  of  our  fellow  citizens — for  that  he  was,  in  spite 
of  his  act." 

Ludwig  secretly  pressed  his  hand  in  token  of  gratitude. 

"  This  misfortune  is  sent  by  God  " — the  burgomaster  con- 
tinued— "  we  will  not  judge  the  poor  mortal  who  was  merely 


FLYING   FROM   THE   CROSS. 


I99 


His  tool.  Regard  him  as  one  dead,  as  he  seems  to  regard 
himself.  He  has  bequeathed  his  property  to  our  poor — we  will 
thank  him  for  that,  as  is  right — in  other  respects  he  is  dead  to 
us." 

The  burgomaster  took  the  letter  from  the  table.  "  Here  is 
his  last  will  for  Ammergau,  I  will  read  it  to  you."  The  burgo- 
master calmly  read  the  paper,  but  it  seemed  as  if  his  voice, 
usually  so  firm,  trembled. 

When  he  had  finished,  deep  silence  reigned.  Many  were 
wiping  their  eyes,  others  gazed  sullenly  into  vacancy — a  sol- 
emn hush,  like  that  which  prevails  at  a  funeral,  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  assembly.  "  We  cannot  tell,"  the  burgomaster 
repeated :  "  Peace  to  his  ashes — for  the  fire  which  will  be  so 
destructive  to  us  is  still  blazing  in  him.  We  can  but  say,  may 
God  forgive  him,  and  let  these  be  the  last  words  uttered  con- 
cerning him." 

"  May  God  forgive  him !  "  murmured  the  sorely  stricken 
assemblage. 

"  Amen  ! "  replied  the  burgomaster.  "  And  now,  my 
friends,  let  us  consult  what  is  to  be  done.  We  cannot  deceive 
ourselves  concerning  our  situation.  It  is  critical,  nay  hopeless. 
The  first  thing  we  must  try  to  save  is  our  honor.  When  it 
becomes  known  that  one  of  our  number,  and  that  one  the 
Christ — has  deserted  his  colors,  or  rather  the  cross,  we  shall  be 
disgraced  and  our  sacred  cause  must  suffer.  Our  honor  here 
is  synonymous  with  the  honor  of  God,  and  if  we  do  not  guard 
it  for  ourselves  we  must  for  His  sake." 

A  murmur  of  assent  answered  him.  He  continued : 
"Therefore  we  must  make  every  effort  to  keep  the  matter 
secret.  We  can  say  that  Freyer  had  suddenly  succumbed  to 
the  exertion  imposed  by  his  part,  and  to  save  his  life  had  been 
obliged  to  seek  a  warmer  climate !  Those  who  know  us  men 
of  Ammergau  will  not  believe  that  any  one  would  retire  on 
account  of  his  health,  nay  would  prefer  death  rather  than  to 
interrupt  the  performances — but  there  are  few  who  do  know 
us." 

"  God  knows  that !  "  said  the  listeners,  mournfully. 

"  Therefore  I  propose  that  we  all  promise  to  maintain  the 
most  absolute  secrecy  in  regard  to  the  real  state  of  affairs  and 
give  the  pretext  just  suggested  to  the  public," 


200  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"Yes,  yes — we  wiii  agree  not  to  say  anything  else,"  the  men 
readily  assented.  "  But  the  women — they  will  chatter,"  said 
Andreas  Gross. 

"That  is  just  what  I  fear.  I  can  rely  upon  you  men,"  re- 
plied the  burgomaster,  casting  a  stern  glance  at  the  girls  and 
women.  "  The  men  are  fully  aware  of  the  meaning  and  im- 
portance of  our  cause.  It  is  bad  enough  that  so  many  are 
not  understood  and  supported  by  their  wives !  You — the 
women  of  Ammergau — alas  that  I  must  say  it — you  have 
done  the  place  and  the  cause  more  harm  by  your  gossip  than 
you  can  answer  for  to  the  God  who  honors  us  with  His  holy 
mission.  There  is  chattering  and  tattling  where  you  think  you 
can  do  so  unpunished,  and  many  things  are  whispered  into  the 
ears  of  the  visitors  which  afterwards  goes  as  false  rumors 
through  the  world !  You  care  nothing  for  the  great  cause,  if 
you  get  an  opportunity  to  gratify  some  bit  of  petty  malice. 
Now  you  are  weeping,  are  you  not  ?  Because  we  are  ruined 
— the  performances  must  cease !  But  are  you  sure  that  Joseph 
Freyer  would  have  been  capable  of  treating  us  in  this  way, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  flood  of  gossip  you  poured  out  on  him 
and  his  cousin,  Josepha  ?  It  embittered  his  mind  against  us 
and  drove  him  into  the  stranger's  arms.  Has  he  not  said  a 
hundred  times  that,  if  it  were  not  for  personating  the  Christ, 
he  would  have  left  Ammergau  long  ago  ?  Where  one  bond  is 
destroyed  another  tears  all  the  more  easily.  Take  it  as  a  les 
son — and  keep  silence  this  time  at  least,  if  you  can  govern 
your  feminine  weakness  so  far !  I  shall  make  your  husbands 
accountable  for  every  word  which  escapes  concerning  this 
matter."  Several  of  the  women  murmured  and  cast  spiteful 
glances  at  the  burgomaster. 

"  To  whom  does  this  refer,  who  is  said  to  have  tattled  ?  " 
asked  a  stout  woman  with  a  bold  face. 

The  burgomaster  frowned.  "  It  refers  to  those  who  feel 
guilty — and  does  not  concern  those  who  do  not!  "  he  cried, 
sternly.  "  The  good  silent  women  among  you  know  very  well 
that  1  do  not  mean  them — and  the  others  can  take  heed." 

A  painful  pause  followed.  The  burgomaster's  eyes  rested 
threateningly  upon  the  angry  faces  of  the  culprits.  Those 
who  felt  that  they  were  innocent  gazed  at  him  undisturbed. 

"  I  will  answer  for  my  wife  " — "  Nothing  shall  go  from  my 


FLYING    FROM    THE    CROSS.  2OI 

house  !  "  protested  one  after  another,  and  thus  at  least  every 
effort  would  be  made  to  save  the  honor  of  Ammergau,  and 
conceal  their  disgrace  from  the  world.  But  now  came  the 
question  how  to  save  the  Play.  A  warm  debate  followed. 
The  people,  thus  robbed  of  their  hopes,  wished  to  continue 
the  performances  at  any  cost,  with  any  cast  of  characters. 
But  here  they  encountered  the  resolute  opposition  of  the 
burgomaster :  "  Either  well — or  not  at  all !  "  was  his  ultimatum. 
"  We  cannot  deceive  ourselves  for  a  moment.  At  present, 
there  is  not  one  of  us  who  can  personate  the  Christ — except 
Thomas  Rendner,  and  where,  in  that  case,  could  we  find  a 
Pilate — who  could  replace  Thomas  Rendner  ?  " 

There  was  a  violent  discussion.  "  The  sacristan,  Nathanael, 
could  play  Pilate." 

"  Who  then  would  take  Nathanael  ?  " 

"  Ah,  if  this  one  and  that  one  were  still  in  the  village ! 
But  they  had  gone  away  to  seek  their  bread,  like  so  many 
who  could  no  longer  earn  a  support  since  the  Partenkirch 
School  of  Carving  had  competed  with  the  one  in  Ammergau. 
And  many  more  would  follow.  If  things  went  on  in  the  same 
fashion,  and  matters  were  not  improved  by  the  play,  in  ten 
years  more  there  might  be  none  to  fill  the  parts,  necessity 
would  gradually  drive  every  one  away." 

"  Yes,  we  are  in  a  sore  strait,  my  friends.  The  company 
melts  away  more  and  more — the  danger  to  the  Passion  Play 
constantly  increases.  If  we  can  find  no  help  now,  penury 
will  deprive  us  of  some  of  our  best  performers  ere  the  next 
time.  And  yet,  my  friends,  believe  me — I  say  it  with  a  heavy 
heart :  if  we  now  continue  with  a  poor  cast  of  characters — we 
shall  be  lost  wholly  and  forever,  for  then  we  shall  have  de- 
stroyed the  reputation  of  the  Passion  Play." 

"  Thomas  Rendner  will  personate  the  Christ  well — there  is 
no  danger  on  that  score." 

"  And  if  he  does — if  Rendner  takes  the  Christ,  the  sacristan 
Pilate,  and  some  one  else  Nathanael — shall  we  not  be  obliged 
to  study  the  whole  piece  again,  and  can  that  be  done  so 
rapidly  ?  Can  we  commence  our  rehearsals  afresh  now  ? 
I  ask  you,  is  it  possible  ?  " 

The  people  hung  their  heads  in  hopeless  discouragement. 

"Our  sole  resource  would  be  to  find   a  Christ   among 


202  ON   THE    CROSS. 

those  who  are  not  in  the  Play — and  all  who  have  talent  are 
already  employed.  The  others  cannot  be  used,  if  we  desire  to 
present  an  artistic  whole." 

Despair  seized  upon  the  listeners — there  was  not  a  single 
one  among  them  who  had  not  invested  his  little  all  in  furniture 
and  beds  for  the  strangers,  and  even  incurred  debts  for  the 
purpose,  to  say  nothing  of  the  universal  poverty. 

New  proposals  were  made,  all  of  which  the  hapless  burgo- 
master was  compelled  to  reject. 

"The  general  welfare  is  at  a  stake,  and  the  burgomaster 
thinks  only  of  the  artistic  whole." 

With  these  words  the  wrath  of  the  assembly  was  finally  all 
directed  against  him,  and  those  who  fanned  it  were  mainly  the 
strangers  attracted  by  the  Passion  Play  for  purposes  of  specu- 
lation, who  cared  nothing  how  much  it  suffered  in  future,  if 
only  they  made  their  money ! 

"  I  know  the  elements  which  are  stirring  up  strife  here," 
said  the  burgomaster,  scanning  the  assembly  with  his  stern 
eyes.  "  But  they  shall  not  succeed  in  separating  us  old  citizens 
of  Ammergau,  who  have  held  together  through  every  calamity! 
Friends,  let  the  spirit  which  our  forefathers  have  preserved  for 
centuries  save  us  from  discord — let  us  not  deny  the  good  old 
Ammergau  nature  in  misfortune." 

"  And  with  the  good  old  nature  you  can  starve,"  muttered 
the  speculators. 

"If  the  burgomaster  does  not  consider  your  interests  of 
more  importance  than  the  fame  of  his  success  as  stage  man- 
ager he  ought  to  go  to  Munich  and  get  the  position — there  he 
could  give  as  many  model  performances  as  he  desired  ! " 

"Yes,"  cried  another,  "  he  is  sacrificing  our  interests  to  his 
own  vanity." 

During  this  accusation  the  burgomaster  remained  standing 
with  his  figure  drawn  up  to  its  full  height.  Only  the  dark 
swollen  vein  on  his  weary  brow  betrayed  the  indignation  seeth- 
ing in  his  soul. 

"  I  disdain  to  make  any  reply  to  such  a  charge.  I  know 
the  hearts  of  my  fellow  citizens  too  well  to  fear  that  any  one 
of  them  believes  it." 

"  No,  certainly  not !  "  exclaimed  the  wiser  ones.  But  the 
majority  were  silent  in  their  wrathful  despair. 


'FLYING    FROM   THE    CROSS.  203 

"  I  know  that  many  of  you  misjudge  me,  and  I  bear  you 
no  resentment  for  it.  I  admit  that  in  such  a  period  of  storm 
and  stress  it  is  difficult  to  maintain  an  unprejudiced  judgment. 

"  I  know  also  that  I  myself  have  often  bewildered  your 
judgment,  for  it  is  impossible  to  create  such  a  work  without 
giving  offense  here  and  there.  I  know  that  many  who  feel 
wounded  and  slighted  secretly  resent  it,  and  I  do  not  blame 
them !  Only  I  beg  you  to  visit  the  rancor  on  me  personally — 
not  extend  it  to  the  cause  and  injure  that  out  of  opposition  to 
me.  In  important  moments  like  these,  I  beg  you  to  let  all 
private  grudges  drop  and  gather  around  me — in  this  one  de- 
cisive hour  think  only  of  the  whole  community,  and  not  of  all 
the  wrongs  the  burgomaster  may  have  done  you  individually. 

"  If  I  had  only  the  interest  of  Ammergau  to  guard,  all 
would  be  well !  But  I  have  not  only  your  welfare  to  protect, 
but  the  dignity  of  a  cause  for  which  I  am  responsible  to  God 
— so  long  as  it  remains  in  my  hands.  Human  nature  is  weak 
and  subject  to  external  impressions.  The  religious  concep- 
tions of  thousands  depend  upon  the  greater  or  less  powerful 
illusion  produced  by  the  Passion  Play  as  a  moral  symbol. 
This  is  a  heavy  responsibility  in  a  time  when  negation  and 
materialism  are  constantly  undermining  faith  and  dragging 
everything  sacred  in  the  dust.  In  such  a  period,  the  utmost 
perfection  of  detail  is  necessary,  that  the  form  at  least  may 
command  respect,  where  the  essence  is  despised.  I  will  try  to 
make  this  clear  to  you  by  an  example.  The  cynic  who  sneers 
at  our  worship  of  Mary  and,  with  satirical  satisfaction,  paints 
the  Virgin  as  the  corpulent  mother  of  four  or  five  boys,  will 
laugh  at  an  Allotting  Virgin  but  grow  silent  and  earnest 
before  a  Sistine  Madonna !  For  here  the  divinity  in  which 
he  does  not  wish  to  believe  confronts  him  in  the  work  of 
art  and  compels  his  reverence.  It  is  precisely  in  a  period 
of  materialism  like  the  present  that  religious  representation  has 
its  most  grateful  task — for  the  deeper  man  sinks  into  sensualism, 
the  more  accessible  he  is  to  sensual  impressions,  and  the  more 
easily  religion  can  influence  him  through  visible  forms,  repell- 
ing or  attracting  according  to  the  defective  or  artistic  treatment 
of  the  material.  The  religious-sensuous  impetus  is  the  only 
one  which  can  influence  times  like  these,  that  is  why  the 
Passion  Play  is  more  important  now  than  ever! 


204-  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  God  has  bestowed  upon  me  the  modest  talent  of  organi- 
zation and  a  little  artistic  culture,  that  I  may  watch  over  it, 
and  see  that  those  who  come  to  us  trustfully  to  seek  their 
God,  do  not  go  away  with  a  secret  disappointment — and  that 
those  who  come  to  laugh  may  be  quiet — and  ashamed. 

"This  is  the  great  task  allotted  to  me,  which  I  have 
hitherto  executed  without  regard  for  personal  irritability,  and 
the  injury  of  petty  individual  interests,  and  hope  to  accom- 
plish even  under  stress  of  the  most  dire  necessity. 

"  If  you  wish  to  oppose  it,  you  should  have  given  the  office 
I  occupy  to  some  one  who  thinks  the  task  less  lofty,  and  who 
is  complaisant  enough  to  sacrifice  the  noble  to  the  petty.  But 
see  where  you  will  end  with  the  complaisant  man,  who  listens 
to  every  one.  See  how  soon  anarchy  will  enter  among  you% 
for  where  individual  guidance  is  lacking,  and  every  one  can 
assert  his  will,  the  seed  of  discord  shoots  up,  overgrowing 
everything.  Now  you  are  all  against  me,  but  then  you  will  be 
against  one  another,  and  while  you  are  quarreling  and  disput- 
ing, time  will  pass  unused,  and  at  last  the  first  antiquated 
model  will  be  seized  because  it  can  be  most  easily  and  quickly 
executed.  But  the  modern  world  will  turn  away  with  a  de- 
risive laugh,  saying ;  *  We  can't  look  at  these  peasant  farces 
any  more.' 

"  Then  answer  for  robbing  thousands  of  a  beautiful  illusion 
and  letting  them  return  home  poorer  in  faith  and  reverence 
than  they  came — answer  for  it  to  God,  whose  sublime  task 
you  have  degraded  by  an  inferior  performance,  and  lastly  to 
yourselves  for  forgetting  the  future  in  the  present  gain,  and  to 
profit  by  the  Passion  Play  a  few  more  times  now,  ruin  it  for 
future  decades.  You  do  not  believe  it  because,  in  this 
secluded  village,  you  cannot  know  what  the  taste  of  our  times 
demands.  But  I  do,  for  I  have  lived  in  the  outside  world, 
and  I  tell  you  that  whoever  sees  these  incomplete  perform- 
ances will  certainly  not  return,  and  will  make  us  a  reputation 
stamping  us  as  bunglers  forever !" 

The  burgomaster  pressed  his  hand  to  his  head ;  a  keen 
pang  was  piercing  his  brain — and  his  heart  also. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  add,"  he  concluded,  faintly. 
"  But  if  you  know  any  one  whom  you  believe  could  care  for 


FLYING    FROM    THE    CROSS.  205 

> 

Ammergau  better  than  I — I  am  ready  at  any  moment  to  place 
my  office  in  his  hands." 

Then,  with  one  accord,  every  heart  swelled  with  the  old 
lofty  feeling  for  the  sacred  cause  of  their  ancestors  and  grateful 
appreciation  of  the  man  who  had  again  roused  it  in  them. 
No,  he  did  not  deserve  that  they  should  doubt  him — he  had 
again  taught  them  to  think  like  true  natives  of  Ammergau,  aye, 
they  felt  proudly  that  he  was  of  the  true  stock — it  was  Am- 
mergau blood  that  flowed  in  his  veins  and  streamed  from  the 
wounds  which  had  been  inflicted  on  his  heart  that  day  !  They 
saw  that  they  had  wronged  him  and  they  gathered  with  their 
old  love  and  loyalty  around  the  sorely-beset  man,  ready  to 
atone  with  their  lives,  for  these  hot-blooded,  easily  influenced 
artist-natures  were  nevertheless  true  to  the  core. 

The  malcontents  were  forced  to  keep  silence,  no  one 
listened  to  them.  All  flocked  around  the  burgomaster.  "  We 
will  stand  by  you,  Burgomaster— only  tell  us  what  we  are  to 
do — and  how  we  can  help  ourselves.  We  rely  wholly  upon 
you." 

"  Alas !  my  friends,  I  must  reward  your  restored  confidence 
with  unpalatable  counsel.  Let  us  bear  the  misfortune  like 
men  !  It  is  better  to  fell  trees  in  the  forest,  go  out  as  day 
laborers — nay,  starve — rather  than  be  faithless  to  the  spirit  of 
our  ancestors !  Am  I  not  right  ?"  A  storm  of  enthusiasm 
answered  him. 

It  was  resolved  to  announce  the  close  of  the  Passion  Play 
for  this  decade.  The  document  was  signed  by  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  community. 

"  So  it  is  ended  for  this  year !  For  many  of  us  perhaps  for 
this  life !"  said  the  burgomaster.  "  I  thank  all  who  have 
taken  part  in  the  Play  up  to  this  time.  I  will  report  the  re- 
ceipts and  expenditures  within  a  few  days.  In  consideration 
of  the  painful  cause,  we  will  dispense  with  any  formal  close." 

A  very  different  mood  from  the  former  one  now  took 
possession  of  the  assembly.  All  anxiety  concerning  material 
things  vanished  in  the  presence  of  a  deeper  sorrow.  It  was 
the  great,  mysterious  grief  of  parting,  which  seized  all  who  had 
to  do  anything  connected  with  the  "  Passion."  It  seemed  as 
if  the  roots  of  their  hearts  had  become  completely  interwoven 
with  it  and  must  draw  blood  in  being  torn  away,  as  if  a  part 


206  ON   THE    CROSS. 

of  their  lives  went  with  it.  The  old  men  felt  the  pang  most 
keenly.  "  For  the  last  time  for  this  life !"  are  words  before 
whose  dark  portal  we  stand  hesitating,  be  it  where  it  may — 
but  if  this  "  for  the  last  time "  concerns  the  highest  and 
dearest  thing  we  possess  on  earth,  they  contain  a  fathomless 
gulf  of  sadness !  Old  Barabbas,  the  man  of  ninety,  was  the 
first,  to  express  it — the  others  joined  in  and  the  greybeards 
who  had  been  young  together  and  devoted  their  whole  lives  to 
the  cause  which  to  them  was  the  highest  in  the  world,  sank 
into  one  another's  arms,  like  a  body  of  men  condemned  to  death. 

Then  one  chanted  the  closing  line  of  the  choragus  :  "  Till 
in  the  world  beyond  we  meet  " — and  all  joined  as  with  a  single 
voice,  the  unutterable  anguish  of  resigning  that  close  com- 
munion with  Deity,  in  which  every  one  of  them  lived  during 
this  period,  created  its  own  ceremonial  of  farewell  and  found 
apt  expression  in  those  last  words  of  the  Passion  Play. 

Then  they  shook  hands  with  one  another,  exchanging  a 
life-long  farewell.  They  knew  that  they  should  meet  again  the 
next  day — in  the  same  garments — but  no  longer  what  they 
now  were,  Roman  governor  and  high-priests,  apostles  and 
saints.  They  were  excluded  from  the  companionship  of  the 
Lord,  for  their  Christ  had  not  risen  as  usual — he  had  fled  and 
faithlessly  deserted  his  flock,  ere  their  task  could  be  fulfilled. 
It  was  doubly  hard  ! 

Old  Judas,  the  venerable  Lechner,  was  so  much  moved 
that  they  were  obliged  to  support  him  down  the  stairs :  Judas 
weeping  over  Christ !  The  loyal  man  had  suffered  unutterably 
from  the  necessity  of  playing  the  traitor's  part — the  treachery 
now  practised  toward  the  sacred  cause  by  the  personator  of 
Christ  himself — fairly  broke  his  heart !  "  That  I  must  live  to 
witness  this !"  he  murmured,  wringing  his  hands  as  he  de- 
scended the  steps.  But  Thomas  Rendner  shook  his  handsome 
head  and  mournfully  repeated  the  momentous  words  of  Pilate : 
"  What  is  truth  ?"  With  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  held  out  his 
sinewy  right  hand  consolingly  to  Caiaphas. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  much  to  heart,  Burgomaster;  God  is 
still  with  us !"  Then  he  cast  a  sorrowful  glance  toward  the 
corner  of  the  room.  "  Poor  Mary  !  I  always  thought  so  !" 
he  muttered  compassionately,  under  his  breath,  and  followed 
the  others. 


»      FLYING   FROM   THE    CROSS.  207 

The  burgomaster  and  Ludwig  were  left  behind  alone  and 
followed  the  direction  of  Rendner's  glance.  There — it  almost 
broke  their  hearts — there  sat  the  burgomaster's  sister — the 
"  Mary  "  in  the  corner,  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  the 
very  attitude  in  which  she  waited  for  the  body  of  her  Crucified 
Son. 

"  Poor  sister,"  said  the  burgomaster,  deeply  moved.  "  For 
what  are  you  waiting  ?  They  will  never  bring  him  to  you 
again." 

"  He  will  come  back,  the  poor  martyr!"  she  replied,  her 
large  eyes  gazing  with  prophetic  earnestness  into  vacancy. 
"  He  will  come,  weary  and  wounded — perhaps  betrayed  by 
all." 

"  Then  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,"  said  the 
burgomaster  in  a  low,  firm  tone. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,  you  are  a  man.  But  I,  who 
have  so  long  personated  his  mother — I  will  wait  and  receive 
and  comfort  him,  as  a  mother  cheers  her  erring  child." 

"  Oh,  Anastasia  !"  A  cry  of  pain  escaped  Ludwig's  lips, 
and,  overwhelmed  by  emotion,  he  turned  away. 

The  burgomaster,  with  tender  sympathy,  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  sister,  Freyer  is  not  worthy  that  you  should  love 
him  so  !" 

"  How  do  I  love  him  ?"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  love  him  as 
Eternal  Compassion  loves  the  poor  and  suffering.  He  is  poor 
and  suffering.  Oh  !  do  not  think  evil  of  him — he  does  not 
deserve  it.  He  is  good  and  noble !  Believe  me,  a  mother 
must  know  her  child  better,"  she  added,  with  the  smile  that 
reveals  a  breaking  heart. 

She  looked  the  drawing-master  kindly  in  the  face  :  "  Lud- 
wig, we  both  understand  him,  do  we  not  ?  We  believe  in 
him,  though  all  condemn." 

Ludwig  could  not  speak — he  merely  nodded  silently  and 
pressed  Anastasia's  hand,  as  if  in  recognition  of  the  pledge. 
He  was  undergoing  a  superhuman  conflict,  but,  with  the 
strength  peculiar  to  him,  succeeded  in  repressing  any  display 
of  emotion. 

The  burgomaster  stood  mutely  watching  the  scene,  and 
neither  of  the  three  could  decide  which  suffered  most. 


208  ON    THE    CROSS. 

He  gazed  in  speechless  grief  at  the  clasped  hands  of  his 
sister  and  his  friend.  How  often  he  had  wished  for  this 
moment,  and  now — ?  What  parted  alone  united  them,  and 
what  united,  divided. 

"Aye,  Freyer  has  brought  much  misery  upon  us  !"  he  said, 
with  sullen  resentment.  "  I  only  hope  that  he  will  never  set 
foot  again  upon  the  soil  of  his  forefathers  !" 

"  Oh,  Brother,  how  can  you  speak  so — you  do  not  mean 
it.  I  know  that  his  heart  will  draw  him  back  here  ;  he  will 
seek  his  home  again,  and  he  shall  find  it.  You  will  not 
thrust  him  from  you  when  he  returns  from  foreign  lands  sor- 
rowing and  repentant.  God  knows  how  earnestly  I  wish 
him  happiness,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  he  will  possess  it. 
And  as  he  will  be  loyal  to  us  in  his  inmost  soul,  we  will  be 
true  to  him  and  prepare  a  resting  place  when  the  world  has 
nailed  his  heart  upon  the  cross.  Shall  we  not,  Ludwig  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  Heaven,  we  will !"  faltered  Ludwig,  and  his 
tears  fell  on  the  beautiful  head  of  the  girl,  who  still  sat 
motionless,  as  if  she  must  wait  here  for  the  lost  one. 

"  Woman,  behold  thy  son — son,  behold  thy  mother !" 
stirred  the  air  like  a  breath. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE     MARRIAGE. 

ON  a  wooded  height,  hidden  in  the  heart  of  the  forests  of 
the  Bavarian  highlands,  stood  an  ancient  hunting  castle,  the 
property  of  the  Wildenau  family.  A  steep  mountain  path  led 
up  to  it,  and  at  its  feet,  like  a  stone  sea,  stretched  the  wide, 
dry  bed  of  a  river,  a  Griess,  as  it  was  called  in  that  locality. 
Only  a  few  persons  knew  the  way ;  to  the  careless  glance  the 
path  seemed  wholly  impassable. 

Bare,  rugged  cliffs  towered  like  a  wall  around  the  hunting 
castle  on  its  mossy  height,  harmonizing  in  melancholy  fashion 
with  the  white  sea  of  stone  below,  which  formed  a  harsh  fore- 
ground to  the  dreary  scene.  Ever  and  anon  a  stag  emerged 
from  the  woods,  crossing  the  Griess  with  elastic  tread,  the 
brown  silhouette  of  its  antlers  sharply  relieved  against  the 


THE    MARRIAGE. 


209 


colorless  monotony  of  the  landscape.  The  hind  came  for- 
ward from  the  opposite  side,  slowly,  reluctantly,  with  nostrils 
vibrating.  The  report  of  a  rifle  echoed  from  beyond  the 
river  bed,  the  antlers  drooped,  the  royal  creature  fell  upon  its 
knees,  then  rolled  over  on  its  back ;  its  huge  antlers,  flung 
backward  in  the  death  agony,  were  thrust  deep  down  among 
the  loose  pebbles.  The  hind  had  fled,  the  poacher  seized  his 
prey — a  slender  rill  of  blood  trickled  noiselessly  through  the 
stones,  then  everything  was  once  more  silent  and  lifeless. 

This  was  the  hiding-place  where,  for  seven  years,  Countess 
Wildenau  had  hidden  the  treasure  filched  from  the  cross — the 
rock  sepulchre  in  which  she  intended  to  keep  the  God  whom 
the  world  believed  dead.  Built  close  against  the  cliff,  half 
concealed  by  an  overhanging  precipice,  the  castle  seemed  to 
be  set  in  a  niche.  Shut  out  from  the  sunshine  by  the  pro- 
jecting crag  which  cast  its  shadow  over  it  even  at  noonday,  it 
was  so  cold  and  damp  that  the  moisture  trickled  down  the 
walls  of  the  building,  and,  moreover,  was  surrounded  by  that 
strange  atmosphere  of  wet  moss  and  rotting  mushrooms 
which  awakens  so  strange  a  feeling  when,  after  a  hot  walk,  we 
pause  to  rest  in  the  cool  courtyard  of  some  ruined  castle, 
where  our  feet  sink  into  wet  masses  of  mouldering  brown 
leaves  which  for  decades  no  busy  hand  has  swept  away.  It 
seems  as  if  the  sun  desired  to  associate  with  human  beings. 
Where  no  mortal  eyes  behold  its  rays,  it  ceases  to  shine.  It 
does  not  deem  it  worth  while  to  penetrate  the  heaps  of  with- 
ered leaves,  or  the  tangle  of  wild  vines  and  bushes,  or  the 
veil  of  cobwebs  and  lime-dust  which,  in  the  course  of  time, 
accumulates  in  heaps  in  the  masonry  of  a  deserted  dwelling. 

As  we  see  by  a  child's  appearance  whether  or  not  it  has  a 
loving  mother,  so  the  aspect  of  a  house  reveals  whether  or 
not  it  is  dear  to  its  owner,  and  as  a  neglected  child  drags  out 
a  joyless  existence,  so  a  neglected  house  gradually  becomes 
cold  and  inhospitable. 

This  was  the  case  with  the  deserted  little  hunting  seat. 
No  foot  had  crossed  its  threshold  within  the  memory  of 
man.  What  could  the  Countess  Wildenau  do  with  it  ?  It 
was  so  remote,  so  far  from  all  the  paths  of  travel,  so  hidden 
in  the  woods  that  it  would  not  even  afford  a  fine  view.  It 
stood  as  an  outpost  on  the  chart  containing  the  location  of 

14 


2IO  ON   THE    CROSS. 

the  Wildenau  estates.  It  had  never  entered  the  owner's 
mind  to  seek  it  out  in  this — far  less  in  reality. 

Every  year  an  architect  was  sent  there  to  superintend  the 
most  necessary  repairs,  because  it  was  not  fitting  for  a 
Wildenau  to  let  one  of  these  family  castles  go  to  ruin.  This 
was  all  that  was  done  to  preserve  the  building.  The  garden 
gradually  ran  to  waste,  and  became  so  blended  with  the 
forest  that  the  boughs  of  the  trees  beat  against  the  windows 
of  the  edifice  and  barred  out  like  a  green  hedge  the  last 
straggling  sunbeams.  A  castle  for  a  Sleeping  Beauty,  but 
without  the  sleeping  princess.  Then  Fate  willed  that  a  bliss- 
ful secret  in  its  owner's  breast  demanded  just  such  a  hiding- 
place  in  which  to  dream  the  strangest  fantasy  ever  imagined 
by  woman  since  Danae  rested  in  the  embrace  of  Jove. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  sought  and  found  this  forgotten 
spot  in  her  chart,  and,  with  the  energy  bestowed  by  the  habit 
of  being  able  to  accomplish  whatever  we  desire,  she  discov- 
ered a  secret  ford  through  the  Griess,  known  only  to  a  trust- 
worthy old  driver,  and  no  one  was  aware  of  Countess  Wilde- 
nau's  residence  when  she  vanished  from  society  for  days. 
There  were  rumors  of  a  romantic  adventure  or  a  religious 
ecstacy  into  which  the  Ammergau  Passion  Play  had  trans- 
ported her  years  before.  She  had  set  off  upon  her  journey  to 
the  Promised  Land  directly  after,  and  as  no  sea  is  so  wide,  no 
mountain  so  lofty,  that  gossip  cannot  find  its  way  over  them, 
it  even  made  its  way  from  the  Holy  Sepulchre  to  the  drawing 
rooms  of  the  capital 

A  gentleman,  an  acquaintance  of  so-and-so,  had  gone  to 
the  Orient,  and  in  Jerusalem,  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  met  a 
veiled  lady,  who  was  no  other  than  Countess  Wildenau. 
There  would  have  been  nothing  specially  remarkable  in  that. 
But  at  the  lady's  side  knelt  a  gentleman  who  bore  so  remark- 
able a  resemblance  to  the  pictures  of  Christ  that  one  might 
have  believed  it  was  the  Risen  Lord  Himself  who,  dissatisfied 
with  heaven,  had  returned  repentant  to  His  deserted  resting- 
place. 

How  interesting !  The  imagination  of  society,  thirsting 
for  romance,  naturally  seized  upon  this  bit  of  news  with  much 
eagerness. 

x 


THE   MARRIAGE.  211 

Who  could  the  gentleman  with  the  head  of  Christ  be; 
save  the  Aramergau  Christ?  This  agreed  with  the  sudden 
interruption  of  the  Passion  Play  that  summer,  on  account  of 
the  illness  of  the  Christ — as  the  people  of  Ammergau  said,  who 
perfectly  understood  how  to  keep  their  secrets  from  the  out- 
side world. 

But  as  they  committed  the  imprudence  of  occasionally 
sending  their  daughters  to  the  city,  one  and  another  of  these 
secrets  of  the  community,  more  or  less  distorted,  escaped 
through  the  dressing-rooms  of  the  mistresses  of  these  Ammer- 
gau maids. 

Thus  here  and  there  a  flickering  ray  fell  upon  the  Am- 
mergau catastrophe :  The  Christ  was  not  ill — he  had  van- 
ished— run  away — with  a  lady  of  high  rank.  What  a 
scandal !  Then  lo !  one  day  Countess  Wildenau  appeared — 
after  a  journey  of  three  years  in  the  east — somewhat  absent- 
minded,  a  little  disposed  to  assume  religious  airs,  but  without 
any  genuine  piety.  Religion  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  an 
indulgence  of  religious-erotic  rapture  with  its  sweet  delusions 
— it  can  be  obtained  only  by  the  hard  labor  of  daily  self-sacri- 
fice, of  which  a  nature  like  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  has  no 
knowledge. 

So  she  returned,  somewhat  changed — yet  only  so  far  as 
that  her  own  ego,  which  the  world  did  not  know,  was  even 
more  potential  than  before. 

But  she  came  alone !  Where  had  she  left  her  pallid  Christ  ? 
All  inquiries  were  futile.  What  could  be  said  ?  There  was 
no  proof  of  anything — and  besides;  proven  or  not — what 
charge  would  have  overthrown  Countess  Wildenau  ?  That 
would  have  been  an  achievement  for  which  even  her  foes 
lacked  perseverance  ? 

It  is  very  amusing  when  a  person's  moral  ruin  can  be 
effected  by  a  word  carelessly  uttered !  But  when  the  labor 
of  producing  proof  is  associated  with  it,  people  grow  good- 
natured  from  sheer  indolence — let  the  victim  go,  and  seek  an 
easier  prey. 

This  was  the  case  with  the  Countess  Wildenau !  Her 
position  remained  as  unshaken  as  ever,  nay  the  charm  of  her 
person  exerted  an  influence  even  more  potent  than  before. 
Was  it  her  long  absence,  or  had  she  grown  younger  ?  No 


212  ON   THE    CROSS. 

matter — she  had  gained  a  touch  of  womanly  sweetness  which 
rendered  her  irresistible. 

In  what  secret  mine  of  the  human  heart  and  feeling  had 
she  garnered  the  rays  which  glittered  in  her  eyes  like  hidden 
treasures  on  which  the  light  of  day  falls  for  the  first  time  ? 

When  a  woman  conceals  in  her  heart  a  secret  joy  men 
flock  around  her,  with  instinctive  jealousy,  all  the  more  closely, 
they  would  fain  dispute  the  sweet  right  of  possession  with  the 
invisible  rival.  This  is  a  trait  of  human  nature.  But  one  of 
the  number  did  so  consciously,  not  from  a  jealous  instinct  but 
with  the  full,  intense  resolve  of  unswerving  fidelity — the  prince ! 
With  quiet  caution,  and  the  wise  self-control  peculiar  to  him, 
he  steadily  pursued  his  aim.  Not  with  professions  of  love ; 
he  was  only  too  well  aware  that  love  is  no  weapon  against 
love !  On  the  contrary,  he  chose  a  different  way,  that  of  cold 
reason. 

"  So  long  as  she  is  aglow  with  love,  she  will  be  proof 
against  any  other  feeling — she  must  first  be  cooled  to  the 
freezing-point,  then  the  chilled  bird  can  be  clasped  carefully  to 
the  breast  and  given  new  warmth." 

It  would  be  long  ere  that  point  was  reached — but  he  knew 
how  to  wait ! 

Meanwhile  he  drew  the  Countess  into  a  whirl  of  the  most 
fascinating  amusements. 

No  word,  no  look  betrayed  the  still  hopeful  lover !  With 
the  manner  of  one  who  had  relinquished  all  claims,  but  was 
too  thoroughly  a  man  of  the  world  to  avoid  an  interesting 
woman  because  he  had  failed  to  win  her  heart,  he  again  sought 
her  society  after  her  return.  Had  he  betrayed  the  slightest 
sign  of  emotion,  he  would  have  been  repulsive  in  her  present 
mood.  But  the  perfect  frankness  and  unconcern  with  which 
he  played  the  "  old  friend "  and  nothing  more,  made  his 
presence  a  comfort,  nay  even  a  necessity  of  life !  So  he 
became  her  inseparable  companion — her  shadow,  and  by  the 
influence  of  his  high  position  stifled  every  breath  of  slander, 
which  floated  from  Ammergau  to  injure  his  beautiful  friend. 

During  the  first  months  after  her  return  she  had  the  whim 
— as  she  called  it — of  retiring  from  society  and  spending  more 
time  upon  her  estates.  But  the  wise  caution  of  the  prince 
prevented  it. 


»  THE    MARRIAGE.  213 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  do  that.  Will  you  give  free 
play  to  the  rumors  about  your  Ammergau  episode  and  the 
pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  connected  with  it,  by  withdrawing 
into  solitude  and  thus  leaving  the  field  to  your  slanderers, 
that  they  may  disport  at  will  in  the  deserted  scenes  of  your 
former  splendor  ?" 

"  This,"  he  argued,  "  is  the  very  time  when  you  must  take 
your  old  position  in  society,  or  you  will  be — pardon  my  frank- 
ness— a  fallen  star." 

The  Countess  evidently  shrank  from  the  thought. 

"  Or — have  you  some  castle  in  the  air  whose  delights  out- 
weigh the  world  in  your  eyes  ?"  he  asked  with  relentless  in- 
sistence : 

This  time  the  Countess  flushed  to  the  fair  curls  which 
clustered  around  her  forehead. 

Since  that  time  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  Wildenau  palace 
had  again  been  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  roses — lighted,  and 
adorned  with  glowing  Oriental  magnificence,  and  the  motley 
tide  of  society,  amid  vivacious  chatter,  flooded  the  spacious 
apartments.  Glittering  with  diamonds,  intoxicated  by  the 
charm  of  her  own  beauty  whose  power  she  had  not  tested  for 
years,  the  Countess  was  the  centre  of  all  this  splendor — while 
in  the  lonely  hunting-seat  beyond  the  pathless  Griess,  the 
solitary  man  whom  she  had  banished  thither  vainly  awaited 
— his  wife. 

The  leaves  in  the  forest  were  turning  brown  for  the  sixth 
time  since  their  return  from  Jerusalem,  the  autumn  gale  was 
sweeping  fresh  heaps  of  withered  leaves  to  add  to  the  piles 
towering  like  walls  around  the  deserted  building,  the  height 
was  constantly  growing  colder  and  more  dreary,  the  draw- 
ing-rooms below  were  continually  growing  warmer,  the  Palace 
Wildenau,  with  its  Persian  hangings  and  rugs  and  cosy  nooks 
behind  gay  screens  daily  became  more  thronged  with  guests. 
People  drew  their  chairs  nearer  and  nearer  the  blazing  fire  on 
the  hearth,  which  cast  a  rosy  light  upon  pallid  faces  and  made 
weary  eyes  sparkle  with  a  simulated  glow  of  passion.  The 
intimate  friends  of  the  Countess  Wildenau,  reclining  in  com- 
fortable armchairs,  were  gathered  in  a  group,  the  gentlemen 
resting  after  the  fatigues  of  hunting — or  the  autumn  manoeu- 
vres, the  ladies  after  the  first  receptions  and  balls  of  the 


214  ON   THE   CROSS. 

season,  which  are  the  more  exhausting  before  habit  again 
asserts  its  sway,  to  say  nothing  of  the  question  of  toilettes,  al- 
ways so  trying  to  the  nerves  at  these  early  balls. 

What  is  to  be  done  at  such  times  ?  It  is  certainly  depress- 
ing to  commence  the  season  with  last  year's  clothes,  and  one 
cannot  get  new  ones  because  nobody  knows  what  styles  the 
winter  will  bring  ?  Parisian  novelties  have  not  come.  So  one 
must  wear  an  unassuming  toilette  of  no  special  style  in  which 
one  feels  uncomfortable  and  casts  aside  afterwards,  because 
one  receives  from  Paris  something  entirely  different  from  what 
was  expected ! 

So  the  ladies  chatted  and  Countess  Wildenau  entered 
eagerly  into  the  discussion.  She  understood  and  sympathized 
with  these  woes,  though  now,  as  the  ladies  said,  she  really  could 
not  "  chime  in"  since  she  had  a  store  of  valuable  Oriental  stuffs 
and  embroideries,  which  would  supply  a  store  of"  exclusive" 
toilettes  for  years.  Only  people  of  inferior  position  were 
compelled  to  follow  the  fashions — great  ladies  set  them  and 
the  costliness  of  the  material  prevented  the  garments  from 
appearing  too  fantastic.  A  Countess  Wildenau  could  allow 
herself  such  bizarre  costumes.  She  had  a  right  to  set  the 
fashions  and  people  would  gladly  follow  her  if  they  could,  but 
two  requirements  were  lacking,  on  one  side  the  taste — on  the 
other  the  purse.  The  Countess  charmingly  waived  her 
friends'  envious  compliments ;  but  her  thoughts  were  not  on 
the  theme  they  were  discussing ;  her  eyes  wandered  to  a  crayon 
picture  hanging  beside  the  mantel-piece,  the  picture  of  a  boy 
who  had  the  marvellous  beauty  of  one  of  Raphael's  cherubs. 

"  What  child  is  that  ?"  asked  one  of  the  ladies  who  had 
followed  her  glance. 

"  Don't  you  recognize  it  ?"  replied  the  Countess  with  a 
dreamy  smile.  "  It  is  the  Christ  in  the  picture  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna." 

"  Why,  how  very  strange — if  you  had  a  son  one  might  have 
thought  it  was  his  portrait,  it  resembles  you  so  much." 

"  Do  you  notice  it  ?"  the  Countess  answered.  "  Yes,  that 
was  the  opinion  of  the  artist  who  copied  the  picture ;  he  gave 
it  to  me  as  a  surprise."  She  rose  and  took  another  little 
picture  from  the  wall.  "  Look,  this  is  a  portrait  of  me 
I  was  three  years  old — there  really  is  some  resemblance." 


THE    MARRIAGE.  215 

The  ladies  all  assented,  and  the  gentlemen,  delighted  to 
have  an  opportunity  to  interrupt  the  discussion  of  the  fashions, 
came  forward  and  noticed  with  astonishment  the  striking 
likeness  between  the  girl  and  the  boy. 

"  It  is  really  the  Christ  child  in  the  Sistine  Madonna — very 
exquisitely  painted !"  said  the  prince. 

"  By  the  way,  Cousin,"  cried  a  sharp,  high  voice,  over 
Prince  EmiPs  shoulder,  a  voice  issuing  from  a  pair  of  very 
thin  lips  shaded  by  a  reddish  moustache,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  have  the  very  model  of  this  picture  on  your  own 
estates  ?" 

The  Countess,  with  a  strangely  abrupt,  nervous  move- 
ment, pushed  the  copy  aside  and  hastily  turned  to  replace  her 
own  portrait  on  the  wall.  The  gentlemen  tried  to  aid  her,  but 
she  rejected  all  help,  though  she  was  not  very  skillful  in  her 
task,  and  consequently  was  compelled  to  keep  her  back 
turned  to  the  group  a  long  time. 

"  It  is  possible — I  cannot  remember,"  she  replied, 
while  still  in  this  position.  "  I  cannot  know  the  children  of  all 
my  tenants." 

"  Yes,"  the  jarring  voice  persisted,  "  it  is  a  boy  who  is 
roaming  about  near  your  little  hunting-castle." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  grew  ghastly  pale. 

"  Apropos  of  that  hunting  box,"  the  gentleman  added — 
he  was  one  of  the  disinherited  Wildenaus — "  you  might  let 
me  have  it,  Cousin.  I'll  confess  that  I've  recently  been  look- 
ing up  the  old  rat's  nest.  Schlierheim  will  lease  his  preserves 
beyond  the  government  forests,  but  only  as  far  as  your  boun- 
daries, and  there  is  no  house.  My  brother  and  I  would  hire 
them  if  we  could  have  the  old  Wildenau  hunting-box.  We 
are  ready  to  pay  you  the  largest  sum  the  thing  is  worth.  You 
know  it  formerly  belonged  to  our  branch  of  the  family,  and 
your  husband  obtained  it  only  forty  years  ago.  At  that  time 
it  was  valueless  to  us,  but  now  we  should  like  to  buy  it  again." 

The  Countess  shivered  and  ordered  more  wood  to  be  piled 
on  the  fire.  She  had  unconsciously  drawn  nearer  to  Prince 
Emil,  as  if  seeking  his  protection.  Her  shoulder  touched  his. 
She  was  startlingly  pale. 

"  The  recollection  of  her  husband  always  affects  her  in 
this  way,"  the  prince  remarked. 


2l6  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  Well,  we  will  discuss  the  matter  some  other  time,  belle 
cousine .'"  said  Herr  Wildenau,  sipping  a  glass  of  Chartreuse 
which  the  servant  offered. 

Prince  Emil's  watchful  gaze  followed  the  little  scene  with 
the  closest  attention. 

"  Did  you  not  intend  to  have  the  little  castle  put  in  order 
for  your  father's  residence,  as  the  city  air  does  not  agree  with 
him  in  his  present  condition  ?"  he  said,  with  marked  em- 
phasis. 

"Yes,  certainly — I — we  were  speaking  of  it  a  short  time 
ago,"  stammered  the  Countess.  Besides,  I  am  fond  of  the 
little  castle.  I  should  not  wish  to  sell  it." 

"  Ah,  you  are  fond  of  it.  Pardon  me — that  is  difficult  to 
understand  !  I  thought  you  set  no  value  upon  it — the  whole 
place  is  so  neglected." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  pleases  me — I  like  to  have  it  so," 
replied  the  Countess  in  an  irritated  tone.  "  It  does  not  need 
to  have  everything  in  perfect  order.  It  is  a  genuine  forest 
idyl !" 

"  A  forest  idyl  ?"  repeated  the  cousin.  "  H'm.  Ah,  yes ! 
That's  a  different  matter.  Pardon  me.  Had  I  known  it,  I 
would  not  have  alluded  to  the  subject !"  His  keen  gray  eyes 
glittered  with  a  peculiar  light  as  he  kissed  her  hand  and  took 
his  leave. 

The  others  thought  they  must  now  withdraw  also,  and  the 
Countess  detained  no  one — she  was  evidently  very  weary. 

The  prince  also  took  leave — for  the  sake  of  etiquette — but 
he  whispered,  with  an  expression  of  friendly  anxiety,  "  I  will 
come  back  soon."  And  he  kept  his  promise. 

An  hour  had  passed.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  her  face 
still  colorless,  was  reclining  on  a  divan  in  a  simple  home  cos- 
tume. 

Prince  Emil's  first  glance  sought  the  little  table  on  which 
stood  the  crayon  picture  of  the  infant  Christ — it  had  vanished. 

The  Countess  followed  his  look  and  saw  that  he  missed 
it — their  eyes  met.  The  prince  took  a  chair  and  sat  down 
by  her  side,  as  if  she  were  an  invalid  who  had  just  sustained 
a  severe  operation  and  required  the  utmost  care.  He  him- 
self was  very  pale.  Gently  arranging  the  pillows  behind  her, 
he  gazed  sympathizingly  into  her  face. 


,  THE    MARRIAGE.  217 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ?  "  he  murmured, 
almost  inaudibly,  after  a  pause.  "  All  this  should  have  been' 
very  differently  managed !  " 

"  Prince,  how  could  I  suppose  that  you  were  so  generous 
— so  noble  " — she  could  not  finish  the  sentence,  her  eyes  fell, 
the  beautiful  woman's  face  crimsoned  with  shame. 

He  gazed  earnestly  at  her,  feeling  at  this  moment  the  first 
great  sorrow  of  his  life,  but  also  perceiving  that  he  could  not 
judge  the  exquisite  creature  who  lay  before  him  like  a  statue 
of  the  Magdalene  carved  by  the  most  finished  artist — be- 
cause he  could  not  help  loving  her  in  her  sweet  embarrass- 
ment more  tenderly  than  ever. 

"  Madeleine,"  he  said,  softly,  and  his  breath  fanned  her 
brow  like  a  cooling  breeze,  "  -will  you  trust  me  ?  It  will  be 
easier  for  you." 

She  clasped  his  hand  in  her  slender,  transparent  fingers, 
raising  her  eyes  beseechingly  to  his  with  a  look  of  the  sweet- 
est feminine  weakness,  like  a  young  girl  or  an  innocent  child 
who  is  atoning  for  some  trivial  sin.  "  Let  me  keep  my  secret," 
she  pleaded,  with  such  touching  embarrassment  that  it  almost 
robbed  the  prince  of  his  calmness. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  controlling  himself  with  difficulty. 
"  I  will  ask  no  farther  questions  and  will  not  strive  to  pene- 
trate your  secret.  But  if  you  ever  need  a  friend — and  I  fear 
that  may  happen — pray  commit  no  farther  imprudences,  and 
remember  that,  in  me,  you  possess  one  who  adds  to  a  warm 
heart  a  sufficiently  cool  head  to  be  able  to  act  for  you  as  this 
difficult  situation  requires  !  Farewell,  chere  amie  /  Secure  a 
complete  rest." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  like  the  experienced  physi- 
cian, who  merely  prescribes  for  his  patients  without  conversing 
with  them  about  the  matter,  he  disappeared. 

The  countess  was  ashamed — fairly  oppressed  by  the  gen- 
erosity of  his  character.  Would  it  have  been  better  had  she 
told  him  the  truth  ? 

Should  she  tell  him  that  she  was  married?  Married! 
Was  she  wedded  ?  Could  she  be  called  a  wife  ?  She  had 
played  a  farce  with  herself  and  Freyer,  a  farce  in  which,  from 
her  standpoint,  she  could  not  believe  herself. 

On   their  flight   from   Ammergau   they  had   hastened   to 


2l8  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Prankenberg,  surprised  the  old  pastor  in  his  room,  and  with 
Josepha  and  a  coachman  who  had  grown  gray  in  the  service 
of  the  Wildenau  family  for  witnesses,  declared  in  the  presence 
of  the  priest  that  they  took  each  other  for  husband  and  wife. 

The  old  gentleman,  in  his  surprise  and  perplexity,  knew 
not  what  course  to  pursue.  The  countess  appealed  to  the 
rite  of  the  Tridentine  Council,  according  to  which  she  and 
Freyer,  after  this  declaration,  were  man  and  wife,  even  with- 
out a  wedding  ceremony  or  permission  to  marry  in  another 
diocese.  Then  the  loyal  pastor,  who  had  grown  gray  in  the 
service  of  the  Prankenbergs,  as  well  as  of  his  church,  could 
do  nothing  except  acknowledge  the  fact,  declare  the  marriage 
valid,  and  give  them  the  marriage  certificate. 

So  at  the  breakfast-table,  over  the  priest's  smoking  coffee, 
the  bond  had  been  formed  which  the  good  pastor  was  after- 
wards to  enter  in  the  church  register  as  a  marriage.  But  even 
this  outward  proof  of  the  marriage  between  the  widowed 
Countess  Wildenau  and  the  Ammergau  wood-carver  Freyer 
was  removed,  for  the  countess  had  been  right  in  distrusting 
her  father  and  believing  that  his  advice  concerning  the  secret 
marriage  was  but  a  stratagem  of  war  to  deter  her  from  taking 
any  public  step. 

On  returning  from  the  priest's,  her  carriage  dashed  by 
Prince  von  Prankenberg's. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  prince  rushed  like  a  tempest  into  the 
room  of  the  peaceful  old  pastor,  and  succeeded  in  preventing 
the  entry  of  the  "scandal, "as  he  called  it,  in  the  church 
register.  So  the  proofs  of  the  fact  were  limited  to  the  mar- 
riage certificate  in  the  husband's  hands  and  the  two  witnesses, 
Josepha  and  Martin,  the  coachman — a  chain,  it  is  true,  which 
bound  Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  yet  which  was  always  in  her 
power. 

What  was  this  marriage  ?  How  would  a  man  like  the 
prince  regard  it  ?  Would  it  not  wear  a  totally  different  aspect 
in  the  eyes  of  the  sceptic  and  experienced  man  of  the  world 
than  in  those  of  the  simple-hearted  peasant  who  believed  that 
everything  which  glittered  was  gold  ?  Was  such  a  marriage, 
which  permitted  the  exercise  of  none  of  the  rights  and  duties 
which  elevate  it  into  a  moral  institution,  better  than  an 
illegal  relation  ?  Nay,  rather  worse,  for  it  perpetrated  a  rob- 


>  THE    MARRIAGE.  219 

bery  of  God — it  was  an  illegal  relation  which  had  stolen  a 
sacred  name  1 

But — what  did  this  mean  ?  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  she 
felt  as  if  fate  might  give  the  matter  the  moral  importance 
which  she  did  not  willingly  accord  it — as  if  the  Deity  whose 
name  she  had  abused  might  take  her  at  her  word  and  compel 
her  to  turn  jest  into  earnest. 

Her  better  nature  frankly  confessed  that  this  would  be  only 
moral  justice !  To  this  great  truth  she  bowed  her  head  as  the 
full  ears  bend  before  the  approaching  hail  storm. 

Spite  of  the  chill  autumn  evening,  there  was  an  incompre 
hensible  sultriness  in  the  air  of  the  room. 

Something  in  the  brief  conversation  with  Heir  Wildenau 
and  especially  in  the  manner  in  which  the  prince,  with  his 
keen  penetration,  understood  the  episode,  startled  the  Countess 
and  aroused  her  fears. 

Why  had  Herr  Wildenau  gone  to  the  little  hunting-box? 
How  had  he  seen  the  child  ? 

Yet  how  could  she  herself  have  been  so  imprudent  as  to 
display  the  picture  ?  And  still — it  was  the  infant  Christ  of 
Raphael.  Could  she  not  even  have  one  of  Raphael's  heads 
in  her  drawing-room  without  danger  that  some  one  would 
discover  a  suspicious  resemblance  ! 

She  sprang  from  the  cushions  indignantly,  drawing  herself 
up  to  her  full  height.  Who  was  she  ?  What  did  she  dread  ? 

"  Anything  but  cowardice,  Madeleine,"  she  cried  out  to 
herself.  "  Woe  betide  you,  if  your  resolution  fails,  you  are 
lost !  If  you  do  not  look  the  brute  gossip  steadily  in  the  eye, 
if  so  much  as  an  eye-lash  quivers,  it  will  rend  you.  Do  not 
be  cowardly,  Madeleine,  have  no  scruples,  they  will  betray 
you,  will  make  your  glance  timid,  your  bearing  uncertain, 
send  a  flush  to  your  brow  at  every  chance  word.  But " — she 
sank  back  among  her  cushions — "  but  unfortunately  this  very 
day  the  misfortune  has  happened,  all  these  people  may  go 
away  and  say  that  they  saw  the  Countess  Wildenau  blush  and 
grow  confused — and  why  ? — Because  a  child  was  men- 
tioned—" 

She  shuddered  and  cowered — a  moan  of  pain  escaped  her 
lips! 

"  Yet   you  exist,  my  child — I  cannot   put  you  out  of  the 


22O  ON    THE    CROSS. 

world — and  no  mother  ever  had  such  a  son.  And  I,  instead 
of  being  permitted  to  be  proud  of  you,  must  feel  ashamed. 

"  Oh,  God,  thou  gavest  me  every  blessing :  the  man  I 
loved,  a  beautiful  child — all  earthly  power  and  splendor — yet 
no  contentment,  no  happiness !  What  do  I  lack  ?"  She  sat  a 
long  time  absorbed  in  gloomy  thought,  then  suddenly  the 
cause  became  clear.  She  lacked  the  moral  balance  of  service 
and  counter-service. 

That  was  the  reason  all  her  happiness  was  but  theft,  and 
she  was  forced,  like  a  thief,  to  enjoy  it  in  fear  and  secrecy. 
Her  n:aternal  happiness  was  theft — for  Josepha,  the  stranger, 
filled  a  mother's  place  to  the  boy,  and  when  she  herself  pressed 
him  to  her  heart  she  was  stealing  a  love  she  had  not  earned. 
Her  conjugal  happiness  was  a  theft,  for  so  long  as  she  re- 
tained her  fortune,  she  was  not  permitted  to  marry  !  That 
was  the  curse !  Wherever  she  looked,  wherever  she  saw  her- 
self, she  was  always  the  recipient,  the  petitioner — and  what 
did  she  bestow  in  return  ?  Where  did  she  make  any  sacrifice  ? 
Nothing — and  nowhere  !  Egotism  was  apparent  in  every- 
thing. To  enjoy  all — possess  all,  even  what  was  forbidden 
and  sacrifice  nothing,  must  finally  render  her  a  thief — in  her 
own  eyes,  in  those  of  God,  and  who  knows,  perhaps  also  in 
those  of  men,  should  her  secret  ever  be  discovered ! 

"Woe  betide  you,  unhappy  woman — have  you  not  the 
strength  to  resign  one  for  the  other  ?  Would  you  rather  live 
in  fear  of  the  betrayer  than  voluntarily  relinquish  your  stolen 
goods  ?  Then  do  not  think  yourself  noble  or  lofty — do  not 
deem  yourself  worthy  of  the  grace  for  which  you  long !" 

She  hid  her  face  in  the  cushions  of  the  divan,  fairly  quiver- 
ing under  the  burden  of  her  self-accusation. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  your  Highness,  I  only  wanted  to  ask 
what  evening  toilette  you  desired." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  started  up.  "  If  you  would  only 
cease  this  stealing  about  on  tip-toe !"  she  angrily  exclaimed. 
"  I  beg  pardon,  I  knocked  twice  and  thought  I  did  not  hear 
your  '  come  in.' " 

"  Walk  so  that  you  can  be  heard — I  don't  like  to  have  my 
servants  glide  about  like  spies,  remember  that !" 

"  At  Princess  Hohenstein's  we  were  all  obliged  to  wear 
felt  slippers.  Her  Highness  could  not  endure  any  noise." 


»  AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE.  221 

"  Well  I  have  better  nerves  than  Princess   Hohenstein." — - 

"And  apparently  a  worse  conscience,"  muttered  the 
maid,  who  had  not  failed  to  notice  her  mistress'  confusion. 

"  May  I  ask  once  more  about  the  evening  toilette  ?" 

"  Street  costume — I  shall  not  go  to  the  theatre,  I  will 
drive  out  to  the  estates.  Order  Martin  to  have  the  carriage 
ready." 

The  maid  withdrew. 

The  countess  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a  fever — must  that 
inquisitive  maid  see  her  in  such  a  condition  ?  It  seemed  as 
though  she  was  surrounded  like  a  hunted  animal,  as  though 
eyes  were  everywhere  watching  her. 

There  was  something  in  the  woman's  look  which  had 
irritated  her.  Oh,  God,  had  matters  gone  so  far — must  she 
fear  the  glance  of  her  own  maid? 

Up  and  away  to  nature  and  her  child,  to  her  poor 
neglected  husband  on  the  cliff. 

Her  heart  grew  heavy  at  the  thought  that  the  time  since 
she  had  last  visited  the  deserted  man  could  soon  be  counted 
by  months. 

Her  interest  in  the  simple-hearted  son  of  nature  was  begin- 
ning to  wane,  she  could  not  deny  it.  Woe  betide  her  if  love 
should  also  grow  cold;  if  that  should  happen,  then — she 
realized  it  with  horror — she  would  have  no  excuse  for  the 
whole  sensuous — supersensuous  episode,  which  had  perilled 
both  her  honor  and  her  existence  ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE. 

The  stars  were  already  twinkling  above  the  Griess,  here  and 
there  one  looked  as  if  impaled  on  a  giant  flagstaff,  as  they 
sparkled  just  above  the  tops  of  the  lofty  firs  or  the  sharp 
pinnacles  of  the  crags.  Countless  shooting  stars  glided  hither 
and  thither  like  loving  glances  seeking  one  another. 

The  night  was  breathing  in  long  regular  inhalations. 
Every  five  minutes  her  sleeping  breath  rustled  the  tree-tops. 

Four   horses  drawing  a  small   calash  whose   wheels   were 


222  ON   THE   CROSS. 

covered  with  rubber  glided  across  the  Griess  as  noiselessly  as  a 
spectral  equipage.  The  animals  knew  the  way,  and  their  fiery 
spirit  urged  them  forward  without  the  aid  of  shout  or  lash, 
though  the  mountain  grew  steeper  and  steeper  till  the  black 
walls  of  the  hunting  seat  at  last  became  visible  in  the  glimmer- 
ing star-light. 

Josepha  was  standing  at  the  window  of  the  little  sitting- 
room  upstairs : 

"  I  think  the  countess  is  coming."  At  a  table,  by  the 
lamp,  bending  over  a  book,  sat  "  the  steward" 

He  evidently  had  not  heard  the  words,  for  he  did  not  look 
up  from  the  volume  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  gloomy  shadow 
above  his  eyes  grew  darker  still. 

"Joseph,  the  countess  is  coming!"  cried  Josepha  in  a 
louder  tone. 

"You  are  deceiving  yourself  again,  as  usual,"  he  replied 
in  the  wonderful  voice  which  gave  special  importance  to  the 
simplest  words,  as  when  a  large,  musical  bell  is  rung  for  some 
trivial  cause. 

"  No,  this  time  it  really  is  she,"  Josepha  insisted. 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

Josepha  shook  her  head.     "  You  must  receive  her." 

"  She  is  not  coming  on  my  account,  it  is  only  to  see  the 
child." 

"Then  /will  go.  Oh,  Heaven,  what  a  life!"  sighed  Jos- 
epha, going  out  upon  the  green  moss-covered  steps  of  the 
half  ruined  stone  stairs  where  the  carriage  had  just  stopped. 

"  Is  that  you,  Josepha  ?"  asked  the  countess,  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone,  "  where — where  is  Freyer  ?" 

"  He  is  within,  your  Highness,  he  would  not  believe  that 
your  Highness  was  really  coming!" 

The  countess  understood  the  bitter  meaning  of  the  words. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  endure  ill-temper ! "  she  murmured. 
"Is  the  boy  asleep  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  have  taken  him  into  the  sitting-room,  he  is  cough- 
ing again  and  his  head  is  burning,  so  I  wanted  to  have  him 
in  a  warmer  room." 

"  Isn't  it  warm  here  ?  " 

"  Since  the  funnel  fell  out,  we  cannot  heat  these  rooms ; 
Freyer  tried  to  fit  it  in,  but  it  smokes  constantly.  I  wrote  to 


'  AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE.  223 

your  Highness  last  month  asking  what  should  be  done. 
Freyer,  too,  reported  a  fortnight  ago  that  the  stove  ought  to 
be  repaired,  and  the  child  moved  to  other  apartments  before 
the  cold  weather  set  in  if  Your  Highness  approved,  but — we 
have  had  no  answer.  Now  the  little  boy  is  ill — it  is  beginning 
to  be  very  cold." 

Madeleine  von  Waldenau  bit  her  lips.  Yes,  it  was  true, 
the  letters  had  been  written — and  in  the  whirl  of  society  and 
visits  she  had  forgotten  them. 

Now  the  child  was  ill — through  her  fault.  She  entered  the 
sitting-room.  Freyer  stood  waiting  for  her  in  a  half  defiant, 
half  submissive  attitude — half  master,  half  servant. 

The  bearing  was  unlovely,  like  everything  that  comes  from 
a  false  position.  It  displeased  the  countess  and  injured 
Freyer,  though  she  had  herself  placed  him  in  this  situtaion. 
It  made  him  appear  awkward  and  clownish. 

When,  with  careless  hand,  we  have  damaged  a  work  of  art 
and  perceive  that  instead  of  improving  we  have  marred  it,  we 
do  not  blame  ourselves,  but  the  botched  object,  and  the  inno- 
cent object  must  suffer  because  we  have  spoiled  our  own  pleas- 
ure in  it.  It  is  the  same  with  the  work  of  art  of  creation — a 
human  being. 

There  are  some  natures  which  can  never  leave  things  un- 
disturbed, but  seek  to  gain  a  creative  share  in  everything  by 
attempts  at  shaping  and  when  convinced  that  it  would  have 
been  better  had  they  left  the  work  untouched,  they  see  in  the 
imperfect  essay,  not  their  own  want  of  skill,  but  the  inflexibility 
of  the  material,  pronounce  it  not  worth  the  labor  bestowed — 
and  cast  it  aside. 

The  countess  had  one  of  these  natures,  so  unconsciously 
cruel  in  their  artistic  experiments,  and  her  marred  object  was 
— Freyer. 

Therefore  his  bearing  did  not,  could  not  please  her,  and 
she  allowed  a  glance  of  annoyance  to  rest  upon  him,  which 
did  not  escape  his  notice.  Passing  him,  she  went  to  their 
son's  bed. 

There  lay  the  "  infant  Christ,"  a  boy  six  or  seven  years  old 
with  silken  curls  and  massive  brows,  beneath  whose  shadow 
the  closed  eyes  were  concealed  by  dark-lashed  lids.  A  single 
ray  from  the  hanging  lamp  fell  upon  the  forehead  of  the  little 


224  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Raphael,  and  showed  the  soft  brows  knit  as  if  with  uncon- 
scious pain. 

The  child  was  not  happy — or  not  well — or  both.  He 
breathed  heavily  in  his  sleep,  and  there  was  a  slight  nervous 
twitching  about  the  delicately  moulded  nostrils. 

"  He  has  evidently  lost  flesh  since  I  was  last  here  I  "  said 
the  countess  anxiously. 

Freyer  remained  silent. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"  What  can  I  think  ?  You  have  not  seen  the  boy  for  so 
long  that  you  can  judge  whether  he  has  altered  far  better  than 
I." 

"  Joseph !  "  The  beautiful  woman  drew  herself  up,  and  a 
look  of  genuine  sorrow  rested  upon  the  pale,  irritated  counte- 
nance of  her  husband.  "  Whenever  I  come,  I  find  nothing 
save  bitterness  and  cutting  words — open  and  secret  reproaches. 
This  is  too  much.  Not  even  to-day,  when  I  find  my  child  ill, 
do  you  spare  the  mother's  anxious  heart.  This  is  more  than 
I  can  endure,  it  is  ignoble,  unchivalrous." 

"  Pardon  me,"  replied  her  husband  in  a  low  tone, "  I  could 
not  suppose  that  a  mother  who  deserts  her  child  for  months 
could  possibly  possess  so  tender  a  nature  that  she  would  in- 
stantly grow  anxious  over  a  slight  illness  or  a  change  in  his 
appearance.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  cannot  understand  such 
contradictions ! " 

"  Yes,  from  your  standpoint  you  are  right — in  your  eyes  I 
must  seem  a  monster  of  heartlessness.  I  almost  do  in  my 
own.  Yet,  precisely  because  the  reproach  appears  merited  it 
cuts  me  so  deeply,  that  is  why  it  would  be  generous  and  noble 
to  spare  me !  Oh !  Freyer,  what  has  become  of  the  great 
divine  love  which  once  forgave  my  every  fault  ?  " 

"  It  is  where  you  have  banished  it,  buried  in  the  depths  of 
my  heart,  as  I  am  buried  among  these  lonely  mountains, 
silent  and  forgotten." 

The  countess,  shaking  her  head,  gazed  earnestly  at  him. 
"  Joseph,  you  see  that  I  am  suffering.  You  must  see  that  it 
would  be  a  solace  to  rest  in  your  love,  and  you  are  ungenerous 
enough  to  humble  my  bowed  head  still  more." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  humble  you.  But  we  can  be  generous 
only  to  those  who  need  it.  I  see  in  the  haughty  Countess 


AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE. 


225 


Wildenau  a  person  who  can  exercise  generosity,  but  not  re- 
quire it." 

"  Because  you  do  not  look  into  the  depths  of  my  heart, 
tortured  with  agonies  of  unrest  and  self-accusation  ?  "  As  she 
spoke  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  she  involuntarily  thought 
of  the  faithful,  shrewd  friend  at  home  whose  delicate  power  of 
perception  had  that  very  day  spared  her  the  utterance  of  a 
single  word,  and  at  one  glance  perceived  all  the  helplessness 
of  her  situation. 

True,  the  latter  was  a  man  of  the  world  whom  the  tinsel 
and  glitter  which  surrounded  her  no  longer  had  power  to 
dazzle,  and  who  was  therefore  aware  how  poor  and  wretched 
one  can  be  in  the  midst  of  external  magnificence. 

The  former — a  man  of  humble  birth,  with  the  childish  idea 
of  the  value  of  material  things  current  among  the  common 
people,  could  not  imagine  that  a  person  might  be  surrounded 
by  splendor  and  luxury,  play  a  brilliant  part  in  society,  and  yet 
be  unhappy  and  need  consideration. 

But,  however,  she  might  apologize  for  him,  the  very  ex- 
cuses lowered  him  still  more  in  her  eyes  !  Each  of  these  con- 
flicts seemed  to  widen  the  gulf  between  them  instead  of 
bridging  k. 

Such  scenes,  which  always  reminded  her  afresh  of  his 
lowly  origin,  did  him  more  injury  in  her  eyes  than  either  of 
them  suspected  at  the  moment.  They  were  not  mere  ebulli- 
tions of  anger,  which  yielded  to  equally  sudden  reactions — they 
were  not  phases  of  passion,  but  the  result  of  cool  deliberation 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  educated  woman,  which  ended  in 
hopeless  disappointment. 

The  continual  refrain  :  "  You  do  not  understand  me  !  " 
with  which  the  countess  closed  such  discussions  expressed  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  their  mutual  relations. 

-<  You  wonder  that  I  come  so  rarely !  "  she  said  bitterly. 
"  And  yet  it  is  you  alone  who  are  to  blame — nay,  you  have 
even  kept  me  from  the  bedside  of  my  child." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  Freyer  with  difficulty  suppressed  his  rising 
wrath.  "  This,  too !  " 

"  Yes,  how  can  you  expect  me  to  come  gladly,  when  I 
always  encounter  scenes  like  these?  How  often,  when  I 
could  at  last  escape  from  the  thousand  demands  of  society, 

15 


226  ON  THE   CROSS. 

and  hurried  hither  with  a  soul  thirsting  for  love,  have  you  re- 
pulsed me  with  your  perpetual  reproaches  which  you  make 
only  because  you  have  no  idea  of  my  relations  and  the  claims 
of  the  fashionable  world.  So,  at  last,  when  I  longed  to  come 
here  to  my  husband  and  my  child,  dread  of  the  unpleasant 
scenes  which  shadow  your  image,  held  me  back,  and  I  pre- 
ferred to  conjure  before  me  at  home  the  Freyer  whom  I 
once  loved  and  always  should  love,  if  you  did  not  yourself 
destroy  the  noble  image.  With  that  Freyer  I  have  sweet  in- 
tercourse by  my  lonely  fireside — with  him  I  obtain  comfort 
and  peace,  if  I  avoid  this  Freyer  with  his  petty  sensitiveness, 
his  constant  readiness  to  take  umbrage."  A  mournful  smile 
illumined  her  face  as  she  approached  him;  "You  see  that 
when  I  think  of  the  Freyer  of  whom  I  have  just  spoken — the 
Freyer  of  my  imagination — my  heart  overflows  and  my  eyes 
grow  dim  !  Do  you  no  longer  know  that  Freyer  ?  Can  you 
not  tell  me  where  I  shall  find  him  again  if  I  seek  him  very, 
very  earnestly  ?  " 

Freyer  opened  his  arms  and  pointed  to  his  heart :  "  Here, 
here,  you  can  find  him,  if  you  desire — come,  my  beloved, 
loved  beyond  all  things  earthly,  come  to  the  heart  which  is 
only  sick  and  sensitive  from  longing  for  you." 

In  blissful  forgetfulness  she  threw  herself  upon  his  breast, 
completely  overwhelmed  by  another  wave  of  the  old  illusion, 
losing  herself  entirely  in  his  ardent  embrace. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  wife !  "  he  murmured  in  her  ear,  "  I  know 
that  I  am  irritable  and  unjust !  But  you  do  not  suspect  the 
torment  to  which  you  condemn  me.  Banished  from  your 
presence,  far  from  my  home,  torn  from  my  native  soil,  and  not 
yet  rooted  in  yours.  What  life  is  this  ?  My  untrained  reason 
is  not  capable  of  creating  a  philosophy  which  could  solve  this 
mystery.  Why  must  these  things  be?  I  am  married,  yet  not 
married.  I  am  your  husband,  yet  you  are  not  my  wife.  I 
have  committed  no  crime,  yet  am  a  prisoner,  am  not  a  dis- 
honored man — yet  am  a  despised  one  who  must  conceal  him- 
self in  order  not  to  bring  shame  upon  his  wife  ! 

"  So  the  years  passed  and  life  flits  by !  You  come  often, 
but — I  might  almost  say  only  to  make  me  taste  once  more  the 
joys  of  the  heaven  from  which  I  am  banished. 

"  Ah,  it  is  more  cruel  than  all  the  tortures  of  hell,  for  the 


AT  THE  CHILD'S  BT.DSIDE.  227 

condemned  souls  are  not  occasionally  transferred  to  Heaven 
only  to  be  again  thrust  forth  and  suffer  a  thousandfold. 
Even  the  avenging  God  is  not  so  pitiless." 

The  countess,  overwhelmed  by  this  heavy  charge,  let  her 
head  sink  upon  her  husband's  breast. 

"  See,  my  wife,"  he  continued  in  a  gentle,  subdued  tone, 
whose  magic  filled  her  heart  with  that  mournful  pleasure  with 
which  we  listen  to  a  beautiful  dirge  even  beside  the  corpse  of 
the  object  of  our  dearest  love.  "  In  your  circles  people 
probably  have  sufficient  self-control  to  suppress  a  great 
sorrow.  I  know  that  I  only  weary  and  annoy  you  by  my 
constant  complaints,  and  that  you  will  at  last  prefer  to  avoid 
me  entirely  rather  than  expose  yourself  to  them ! 

"  I  know  this — yet  I  cannot  do  otherwise.  I  was  not 
trained  to  dissimulation — self-control,  as  you  call  it — I  cannot 
laugh  when  my  heart  is  bleeding  or  utter  sweet  words  when 
my  soul  is  full  of  bitterness.  I  do  not  understand  what  com- 
pulsion could  prevent  you,  a  free,  rich  woman,  from  coming 
to  the  husband  whom  you  love,  and  I  cannot  believe  that  you 
could  not  come  if  you  longed  to  do  so — that  is  why  I  so  often 
doubt  your  love. 

"What  should  you  love  in  me?  I  warned  you  that  I 
cannot  always  move  about  with  the  crown  of  thorns  and 
sceptre  of  reeds  as  Ecce  Homo,  and  you  now  perceive  that 
you  were  deceived  in  me,  that  I  am  only  a  poor,  ordinary 
man,  your  inferior  in  education  and  intellect!  And  so  long 
as  1  am  not  a  real  Ecce  Homo — though  that  perhaps  might 
happen — so  long  I  am  not  what  you  need.  But  however 
poor  and  insignificant  I  may  be — I  am  not  without  honor — 
and  when  I  think  that  you  only  come  occasionally,  out  of 
compassion,  to  bring  the  beggar  the  crumbs  which  your  fine 
gentlemen  have  left  me — then,  I  will  speak  frankly — then  my 
pride  rebels  and  I  would  rather  starve  than  accept  alms." 

"And  therefore  you  thrust  back  the  loving  wife  when, 
with  an  overflowing  heart,  she  stole  away  from  the  glittering 
circles  of  society  to  hasten  to  your  side,  therefore  you  were 
cold  and  stern,  disdaining  what  the  others  sought  in  vain! — 
For,  however  distant  you  may  be,  there  has  not  been  an  hour 
of  my  life  which  you  might  not  have  witnessed — however  free 
and  independent  of  you  I  may  stand,  there  is  not  a  fibre  in  my 


228  ON    THE    CROSS. 

heart  which  does  not  cling  to  you !  Ah,  if  you  could  only 
understand  this  deep,  sacred  tie  which  binds  the  freest  spirit 
to  the  husband,  the  father  of  my  child.  If  I  had  wings  to 
soar  over  every  land  and  sea — I  should  ever  be  drawn  back 
to  you  and  would  return  as  surely  as  '  the  bird  bound  by 
the  silken  cord.'  No  one  can  part  me  from  you  except  you 
yourself.  That  you  are  not  my  equal  in  education,  as  you 
assert,  does  not  sever  us,  but  inferiority  of  character  would 
do  so,  for  nothing  but  greatness  attracts  me — to  find  you  base 
would  be  the  death-knell  of  our  love !  Even  the  child  would 
no  longer  be  a  bond  between  us,  for  to  intellectual  natures 
like  mine  the  ties  of  blood  are  mere  animal  instincts,  unless 
pervaded  and  transfigured  by  a  loftier  idea.  The  greatest 
peril  which  threatens  our  love  is  that  your  narrow  views  pre- 
vent your  attaining  the  standpoint  from  which  a  woman  like 
myself  must  be  judged.  I  have  great  faults  which  need 
great  indulgence  and  a  superiority  which  is  not  alarmed  by 
them.  Unfortunately,  my  friend,  you  lack  both.  I  have  a 
great  love  for  you — but  you  measure  it  by  the  contracted 
scales  of  your  humdrum  morality,  and  before  this  it  vanishes 
because  its  dimensions  far  transcend  it. — Where,  where,  my 
friend,  is  the  grandeur,  the  freedom  of  the  soul  which  1  need  ?  " 
"  Alas,  your  words  are  but  too  true,"  said  Freyer,  releasing 
her  from  his  embrace.  "  Every  word  is  a  death  sentence. 
You  ask  a  grandeur  which  I  do  not  possess  and  shall  never 
obtain.  I  grew  up  in  commonplace  ideas,  I  have  never  seen 
any  other  life  than  that  in  which  the  husband  and  wife  be- 
longed together,  the  father  and  mother  reared,  tended,  and 
watched  their  children  together,  and  love  in  this  close,  tender 
companionship  reached  its  highest  goal.  This  idea  of  quiet 
domestic  happiness  embodied  to  me  all  the  earthly  bliss 
allotted  by  God  to  Christian  husbands  and  wives.  Of  a  love 
which  is  merely  incidental,  something  in  common  with  all  the 
other  interests  of  life,  and  which  when  it  comes  in  conflict 
with  them,  must  move  aside  and  wait  till  it  is  permitted  to 
assert  itself  again,  of  such  a  love  I  had  no  conception  — at 
least,  not  in  marriage  !  True,  we  know  that  in  the  dawn  of 
love  it  is  kept  secret  as  something  which  must  be  hidden. 
But  this  is  a  state  of  restless  torture,  which  we  strive  to  end  as 
soon  as  possible  by  a  marriage.  That  such  a  condition  of 


AT  THE  CHILD'S  BKDSIDE.  229 

affairs  would  be  possible  in  marriage  would  never  have  en- 
tered my  mind,  and  say  what  you  will,  a — marriage  like  ours 
is  little  better  than  an  illegal  relation." 

The  countess  started — she  had  had  the  same  thought  that 
very  day. 

"  And  I  " — Freyer  inexorably  continued — "  am  little  more 
than  your  lover!  If  you  choose  to  be  faithful  to  me,  I  shall  be 
grateful,  but  do  not  ask  the  '  grandeur'  as  you  call  it,  of  my 
believing  it.  Whoever  regards  conjugal  duties  so  lightly — 
whoever,  like  you,  feels  bound  by  no  law  '  which  was  only 
made  for  poor,  ordinary  people  '  will  keep  faith  only — so  long 
as  it  is  agreeable  to  do  so." 

The  countess,  gazing  into  vacancy,  vainly  strove  to  find 
a  reply. 

"  This  seems  very  narrow,  very  ridiculous  from  your  lofty 
standpoint.  You  see  I  shall  always  be  rustic.  It  is  a  mis- 
fortune for  you  that  you  came  to  me.  Why  did  you  not  re- 
main in  your  own  aristocratic  circle — gentlemen  of  noble 
birth  would  have  understood  you  far  better  than  a  poor,  plain 
man  like  me.  I  tell  myself  so  daily — it  is  the  worm  which 
gnaws  at  my  life.  Now  you  have  the  '  greatness  '  you  desire, 
the  only  '  greatness '  I  can  offer — that  of  the  perception  of 
our  misery." 

Madeleine  nodded  hopelessly.  "  Yes,  we  are  in  an  evil 
strait.  I  despair  more  and  more  of  restoring  peace  between 
us — for  it  would  be  possible  only  in  case  I  could  succeed  in 
making  you  comprehend  the  necessity  of  the  present  certainly 
unnatural  form  of  our  marriage.  Yet  you  cannot  and  will  not 
see  that  a  woman  like  me  cannot  live  in  poverty,  that  wealth, 
though  it  does  not  render  me  happy,  is  nevertheless  indispensa- 
ble, not  on  account  of  the  money,  but  because  with  it  honor, 
power,  and  distinction  would  be  lost.  You  know  that  this 
would  follow  an  acknowledgement  of  our  marriage,  and  I 
would  die  rather  than  resign  them.  I  was  born  to  a  station 
too  lofty  to  be  content  in  an  humble  sphere.  Do  you  expect 
the  eagle  to  descend  to  a  linnet's  nest  and  dwell  there  ?  It 
would  die,  for  it  can  breathe  only  in  the  regions  for  which  it 
was  created." 

"  But  the  eagle  should  never  have  stooped  to  the  linnet," 
said  Freyer,  gloomily. 


230  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  I  believed  that  I  should  find  in  you  a  consort,  aspiring 
enough  to  follow  me  to  my  heights,  for  the  wings  of  your 
genius  rustled  with  mighty  strokes  above  me  when  you  hung 
upon  the  cross.  Oh,  can  one  who,  like  you,  has  reached  the 
height  of  the  cross,  sink  to  the  Philistine  narrowness  of  the 
ideas  of  the  lower  classes  and  thrust  aside  the  foaming  elixir 
of  love,  because  it  is  not  proffered  in  the  usual  wooden  bowl 
of  the  daily  performance  of  commonplace  duties  ?  It  is  in- 
credible, but  true.  And  lastly  you  threaten  that  I  shall  make 
you  an  Ecce  Homo !  If  you  were,  it  would  be  no  fault  of  mine 
but  because,  even  in  daily  life,  you  could  not  cease  to  play 
the  Christ." 

The  countess  had  spoken  with  cutting  sharpness  and  bitter- 
ness ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  knife  she  turned  against  the  man  she 
loved  must  be  piercing  her  own  heart. 

Freyer's  breath  came  heavily,  but  no  sound  betrayed  the 
anguish  of  the  wound  he  had  received.  But  the  child,  as  if 
feeling,  even  in  its  sleep,  that  its  mother  was  about  to  sunder, 
with  a  fatal  blow,  the  chord  of  life  uniting  her  to  the  father  and 
itself,  quivered  in  pain  and  flung  its  little  hands  into  the  air,  as 
though  to  protect  the  mysterious  bond  whose  filaments  ran 
through  its  heart  also. 

"  See,  the  child  feels  our  strife  and  suffers  from  it !  "  said 
Freyer,  and  the  unutterable  pain  in  the  words  swept  away  all 
hardness,  all  defiance.  The  mother,  with  tearful  eyes,  sank 
down  beside  the  bed  of  the  suffering  child — languishing  under 
the  discord  between  her  and  its  father  like  a  tender  blossom 
beneath  the  warfare  of  the  elements.  "  My  child !  "  she  said 
in  a  choking  voice,  "  how  thin  your  little  hands  have  grown ! 
What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

She  pressed  the  boy's  transparent  little  hands  to  her  lips 
and  when  she  looked  up  again  two  wonderful  dark  eyes  were 
gazing  at  her  from  the  child's  pale  face.  Yes,  those  were  the 
eyes  of  the  infant  Redeemer  of  the  World  in  the  picture  of  the 
Sistine  Madonna,  the  eyes  which  mirror  the  foreboding  of  the 
misery  of  a  world.  It  was  the  expression  of  Freyer's,  but  spirit- 
ualized, and  as  single  sunbeams  dance  upon  a  dark  flood,  it 
seemed  as  if  golden  rays  from  his  mother's  sparkling  orbs  had 
leaped  into  his. 

What  a  marvellous  child !     The  mother's  delicate  beauty, 


AT  THE  CHILD'S  BEDSIDE.  231 

blended  with  the  deep  earnestness  of  the  lather,  steeped  in  the 
loveliness  and  transfiguration  of  Raphael.  And  she  could 
wound  the  father  of  this  boy  with  cruel  words  ?  She  could 
scorn  the  wonderful  soul  of  Freyer,  which  gazed  at  her  in  mute 
reproach  from  the  eyes  of  the  child,  because  the  woe  of  the 
Redeemer  had  impressed  upon  it  indelible  traces ;  disdain  it 
beside  the  bed  of  this  boy,  this  pledge  of  a  love  whose  super- 
natural power  transformed  the  man  into  a  god,  to  rest  for  a 
moment  in  a  divine  embrace?  "Mother!"  murmured  the 
boy  softly,  as  if  in  a  waking  dream ;  but  Madeleine  von  Wild- 
enau  felt  with  rapture  that  he  meant  her,  not  Josepha.  Then 
he  closed  his  eyes  again  and  slept  on. 

Kneeling  at  the  son's  bedside,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  the 
father ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  trembling  ray  of  light  entered  her  soul, 
reflected  from  the  moment  when  he  had  formerly  approached 
her  in  all  the  radiance  of  his  power  and  beauty. 

"  And  we  should  not  love  each  other  ?  "  she  said,  while 
burning  tears  flowed  down  her  cheeks.  Freyer  drew  her  from 
the  child's  couch,  clasping  her  in  a  close  embrace.  "  My 
dove!"  He  could  say  no  more,  grief  and  love  stifled  his 
voice. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  as  she  had  done  when 
she  made  her  penitent  confession  with  such  irresistible  grace 
that  he  would  have  pardoned  every  mortal  sin.  "  Forgive 
me,  Joseph,"  she  said  softly,  in  order  not  to  wake  the  boy  who, 
even  in  sleep,  turned  his  little  head  toward  his  parents,  as  a 
flower  sways  toward  the  sun.  "  I  am  a  poor,  weak  woman ;  I 
myself  suffer  unutterably  under  the  separation  from  you  and 
the  child ;  if  you  knew  how  I  often  feel — a  rock  would  pity  me ! 
It  is  a  miserable  condition — nothing  is  mine,  neither  you,  my 
son,  nor  my  wealth,  unless  I  sacrifice  one  for  the  other,  and 
that  I  cannot  resolve  to  do.  Ah,  have  compassion  on  my 
weakness.  It  is  woman's  way  to  bear  the  most  unendurable 
condition  rather  than  form  an  energetic  resolve  which  might 
change  it.  I  know  that  the  right  course  would  be  for  me  to 
find  courage  to  renounce  the  world  and  say :  '  I  am  married, 
I  will  resign,  as  my  husband's  will  requires,  the  Wildenau  for- 
tune; I  will  retire  from  the  stage  as  a  beggar — I  will  starve  and 
work  for  my  daily  bread.'  I  often  think  how  beautiful  and 
noble  this  would  be,  and  that  perhaps  we  might  be  happy  so — 


232  ON   THE    CROSS. 

happier  than  we  are  now — if  it  were  only  done  !  But  when  I 
seriously  face  the  thought,  I  feel  that  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  Yet  you  told  me  in  Ammergau,"  cried  Freyer,  "  that  it  was 
only  on  your  father's  account  that  you  could  not  acknowledge 
the  marriage.  Your  father  is  now  a  paralytic,  half-foolish  old 
man,  who  cannot  live  long,  then  this  reason  will  be  removed." 

"  Yes,  when  we  married  it  was  he  who  prevented  me  from 
announcing  it ;  I  wished  to  do  so,  and  it  would  have  been  easy. 
But  if  I  state  the  fact  now,  after  having  been  secretly  married 
eight  years,  during  which  I  have  illegally  retained  the  property, 
I  shall  stamp  myself  a  cheat.  Take  me  to  the  summit  of  the 
Kofel  and  bid  me  leap  down  its  thousand  feet  of  cliff — I  can- 
not, were  it  to  purchase  my  eternal  salvation.  Hurl  me  down 
— I  care  not — but  do  not  expect  me  voluntarily  to  take  the 
plunge,  it  is  impossible.  Unless  God  sends  an  angel  to  bear 
me  over  the  chasm  on  its  wings,  all  pleading  will  be  futile." 

She  pressed  her  cheek,  burning  with  the  fever  of  fear,  tend- 
erly against  his :  "  Have  pity  on  my  weakness,  forgive  me  ! 
Ah,  I  know  I  am  always  talking  about  greatness — yet  with  me 
it  exists  only  in  the  imagination.  I  am  too  base  to  be  capa- 
ble of  what  is  really  noble." 

"  You  see  me  now,  as  God  Himself  beholds  me.  He  will 
judge  me — but  it  is  the  privilege  of  marital  love  to  forgive. 
Will  you  not  use  this  sweet  right  ?  Perhaps  God  will  show  me 
some  expedient.  Perhaps  I  shall  succeed  in  making  an  agree- 
ment with  the  relatives  or  gaining  the  aid  of  the  king,  but  for 
all  this  I  must  live  in  the  world — in  order  to  secure  influence 
and  scope  for  my  plans.  Will  you  have  patience  and  forbear- 
ance with  me  till  there  is  a  change  ?  " 

"  That  will  never  be,  any  more  than  during  the  past  eight 
years.  But  I  will  bear  with  you,  poor  wife ;  in  spite  of  every- 
thing I  will  trust  your  love,  I  will  try  to  repress  my  discontent 
when  you  come  and  gratefully  accept  what  you  bestow,  with- 
out remonstrance  or  fault-finding.  I  will  bear  it  as  long  as  I 
can.  Perhaps — it  will  wear  me  out,  then  we  shall  both  be  re- 
leased. I  would  have  removed  myself  from  the  world  long 
ago — but  that  would  be  a  sin,  and  would  not  have  benefited 
you.  Your  heart  is  too  kind  not  to  be  wounded  and  the 
suicide's  bloody  shade  would  not  have  permitted  you  to  enjoy 
your  liberty." 


CONFLICTS.  233 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  what  are  you  saying !  My  poor  husband, 
is  that  your  condition  ?  "  cried  the  countess,  deeply  stirred  by 
the  tragedy  of  these  calmly  uttered  words.  She  shuddered  at 
this  glimpse  of  the  dark  depths  of  his  fathomless  soul  and  what, 
in  her  opinion,  he  might  lack  in  broadness  of  view  was  now 
supplied  by  the  extent  of  his  suffering ;  at  this  moment  he  again 
interested  her.  Throwing  herself  on  his  breast,  she  overwhelmed 
him  with  caresses.  She  sought  to  console  him,  make  him  for- 
get the  bitterness  of  his  grief  by  the  magic  potion  of  her  love. 
She  herself  did  not  know  that  even  now — carried  away  by  a 
genuine  emotion  of  compassion — she  was  yielding  to  the  de- 
moniac charm  of  trying  upon  his  pain  the  power  of  her 
coquetry,  which  she  had  long  since  tested  sufficiently  upon 
human  beings.  But  where  she  would  undoubtedly  have  suc- 
ceeded with  men  of  cultivation,  she  failed  with  this  child  of 
nature,  who  instinctively  felt  that  this  sweet  display  of  tender- 
ness was  not  meant  for  him  but  was  called  forth  by  the  struggle 
against  a  hostile  element  which  she  desired  to  bribe  or  con- 
quer. His  grief  remained  unchanged;  it  was  too  deeply  rooted 
to  be  dispelled  by  the  love-raptures  of  a  moment.  Yet  the 
poor  husband,  languishing  for  the  wife  so  ardently  beloved, 
took  the  poisoned  draught  she  offered,  as  the  thirsting  travel- 
ler in  the  desert  puts  his  burning  lips  to  the  tainted  pool  whence 
he  knows  he  is  drinking  death. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


CONFLICTS. 

IT  was  morning!  The  lamp  had  almost  burned  out! 
Josepha  and  the  countess  were  busied  with  the  boy,  whose 
sleep  was  disturbed  by  a  short,  dry  cough.  The  mother  had 
remained  at  the  little  castle  all  night  and  rested  only  a  few 
hours.  When  with  the  little  one  there  were  times  when  her 
maternal  affection  was  roused.  Then  she  was  seized  with 
dread  lest  God  should  recall  a  precious  gift  because  she  had 
not  known  its  value.  It  would  be  only  just,  she  was  aware  of 
that — and  because  of  its  justice  it  seemed  probable,  and  her 
heart  strove  to  make  amends  in  a  few  hours  for  the  neglect  of 


234  ON  THE  CROSS. 

years.  Perhaps  thereby  she  might  escape  the  punishment.  But 
when  she  had  gone,  the  little  pale  star  in  her  horizon  receded 
into  the  background  before  the  motley  phenomena  of  the 
world  in  which  she  lived,  and  only  in  isolated  moments  did 
she  realize,  by  a  dull  pain,  that  feelings  were  slumbering  within 
her  soul  which  could  not  be  developed — like  a  treasure  which 
lies  concealed  in  a  spot  whence  it  cannot  be  raised.  It  was 
akin  to  the  parable  of  the  servant  who  did  not  put  out  his  tal- 
ent at  interest.  This  talent  which  God  entrusted  to  men  is 
love,  A  lofty  noble  sentiment  which  we  suppress  is  the  buried 
treasure  which  God  will  require  of  us,  when  the  period  for 
which  He  loaned  it  has  expired.  There  were  hours  when  the 
unhappy  woman  realized  this.  Then  she  accused  everything — 
the  world  and  herself!  And  the  poor  little  child  felt  in  his 
precocious  soul  the  grief  of  the  "  beautiful  lady,"  in  whom  he 
presciently  loved  his  mother  without  knowing  that  it  was  she. 
Ordinary  children,  like  animals,  love  best  those  who  provide 
for  their  physical  wants  and  therefore  frequently  cling  more 
fondly  to  the  nurse  than  to  the  mother.  Not  so  this  boy.  He 
was  almost  ungrateful  to  Josepha,  who  nursed  him  the  more 
faithfully,  the  more  he  was  neglected  by  the  countess. 

Josepha  was  passionately  attached  to  the  boy.  All  the 
sorrowful  love  which  she  had  kept  in  her  desolate  heart  for 
her  own  dead  son  was  transferred  from  the  first  hour  to  this 
delicate,  motherless  creature.  It  reminded  her  so  much  of  her 
own  poor  child  :  the  marked  family  likeness  between  him  and 
Freyer — the  mystery  with  which  he  must  be  surrounded.  A 
mother  who  was  ashamed  of  him,  like  Josepha  at  the  time — it 
seemed  as  though  her  own  dead  child  had  returned  to  life. 
And  besides  she  passed  for  his  mother. 

The  boy  was  born  while  the  countess  was  travelling  in  the 
East,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  arrange  with  the  author- 
ities. The  countess,  while  in  Jerusalem,  took  the  name  of 
Josepha  Freyer — Josepha  that  of  Countess  Wildenau,  and  the 
child  was  baptized  under  the  name  of  Freyer.  It  was  entered 
in  the  register  as  an  illegitimate  child,  and  Josepha  bore  the 
disgrace,  and  returned  to  Germany  as  the  boy's  mother. 

What  was  lacking  to  complete  Josepha's  illusion  that  the 
child  was  hers,  and  that  she  might  love  it  as  a  mother? 
Nothing,  save  the  return  of  her  affection.  And  this  was  a 


CONFLICTS.  235 

source  of  bitter  pain.  She  might  give  and  do  what  she  woufd, 
devote  her  days  and  nights  to  him,  sacrifice  her  already  failing 
health — nothing  availed.  When  after  weeks  and  months  of 
absence  the  "  beautiful  lady,"  as  he  called  her,  came,  his 
melancholy  eyes  brightened  and  he  seemed  to  glow  with  new 
life  as  he  stretched  out  his  little  arms  to  her  with  a  look  that 
appeared  to  say :  "  Had  you  not  come  soon,  I  should  have 
died !"  Josepha  no  longer  existed  for  him,  and  even  his 
father,  whom  he  usually  loved  tenderly  as  his  god-father — 
"  Goth,"  as  the  people  in  that  locality  call  it — was  forgotten. 
This  vexed  Josepha  beyond  endurance.  She  performed  a 
mother's  duties  in  all  their  weariness,  her  heart  cherished  a 
mother's  love  with  all  its  griefs  and  cares  and,  when  that  other 
woman  came,  who  deserved  nothing,  did  nothing,  had  neither 
a  mother's  heart  nor  a  mother's  rights — she  took  the  child 
away  and  Josepha  had  naught  save  the  trouble  and  the  shame ! 
The  former  enjoyed  hurriedly,  lightly,  carelessly,  the  joys 
which  alone  could  have  repaid  Josepha's  sacrifices,  the  child's 
sweet  smiles,  tender  caresses,  and  coaxing  ways,  for  which  she 
would  have  given  her  life.  She  ground  her  sharp  white  teeth 
and  a  secret  jealousy,  bordering  on  hatred,  took  root  in  her 
embittered  mind.  What  could  she  esteem  in  this  woman  ? 
For  what  should  she  be  grateful  to  her  ?  She  was  kind  to  her 
— because  she  needed  her  services — but  what  did  she  care  for 
Josepha  herself!  "  She  might  give  me  less,  but  do  her  duty 
to  her  husband  and  child — that  would  suit  me  better,"  she 
secretly  murmured.  "  To  have  such  a  child  and  not  be  a 
mother  to  him,  not  give  him  the  sunshine,  the  warmth  of 
maternal  love  which  he  needs — and  then  come  and  take  away 
from  another  what  she  would  not  earn  for  herself." 

To  have  such  a  husband,  the  highest  blessing  Josepha 
knew  on  earth — a  man  to  whom  the  whole  world  paid  homage 
as  if  to  God,  a  man  so  devout,  so  good,  so  modest,  so  faithful 
— and  desert  him,  conceal  him  in  a  ruinous  old  castle  that  no 
one  might  note  the  disgrace  of  the  noble  lady  who  had  married 
a  poor  wood-carver !  And  then  to  come  and  snatch  the 
kisses  from  his  lips  as  birds  steal  berries,  when  no  one  was 
looking,  he  was  good  enough  for  that !  And  he  permitted  it 
— the  proud,  stern  man,  whom  the  whole  community  feared 
and  honored.  It  was  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 


236  ON   THE   CROSS. 

And  she,  Josepha,  must  swallow  her  wrath  year  after  year 
— and  dared  not  say  anything — for  woe  betide  her  if  she  com- 
plained of  the  countess !  He  would  allow  no  attack  upon  her 
— though  this  state  of  affairs  was  killing  him.  She  was  forced 
to  witness  how  he  grieved  for  this  woman,  see  him  gradually 
lose  flesh  and  strength,  for  the  wicked  creature  bewitched 
every  one,  and  charmed  her  husband  and  child  till  they  were 
fairly  dying  of  love  for  her,  while  she  was  carrying  on  her 
shameless  flirtations  with  others. 

Such  were  the  terrible  accusations  raging  in  Josepha's 
passionate  soul  against  the  countess,  charges  which  effaced  the 
memory  of  all  she  owed  her  former  benefactress. 

"  1  should  like  to  know  what  she  would  do  without  me  " 
was  the  constant  argument  of  her  ungrateful  hatred.  "  She 
may  well  be  kind  to  me — if  I  chose,  her  wicked  pranks 
would  soon  be  over.  She  would  deserve  it — and  what  do  I 
care  for  the  pay  ?  I  can  look  after  myself,  I  don't  need  the 
ill-gotten  gains.  But — then  I  should  be  obliged  to  leave  the 
boy — he  would  have  no  one.  No,  no,  Josepha,  hold  out  as 
long  as  possible — and  be  silent  for  the  child's  sake." 

Such  were  the  conflicts  seething  in  the  breast  of  the  silent 
dweller  in  the  hunting-castle,  such  the  gulfs  yawning  at  the 
unsuspicious  woman's  feet. 

It  was  the  vengeance  of  insulted  popular  morality,  to 
which  she  imagined  herself  so  far  superior.  This  insignificant 
impulse  in  the  progress  of  the  development  of  mankind,  insig- 
nificant because  it  was  the  special  attribute  of  the  humble 
plain  people,  will  always  conquer  in  the  strife  against  the 
emancipation  of  so-called  "  more  highly  organized  "  natures, 
for  it  is  the  destiny  of  individual  giants  always  to  succumb  in 
the  war  against  ordinary  mortals.  Here  there  is  a  great, 
eternal  law  of  the  universe,  which  from  the  beginning  gathered 
its  contingent  from  the  humble,  insignificant  elements,  and  in 
so-called  "plebian  morality"  is  rooted — Christianity.  There- 
fore, the  former  will  conquer  and  always  assert  its  right,  even 
where  the  little  Philistine  army,  which  gathers  around  its  stand- 
ard, defeats  a  far  nobler  foe  than  itself,  a  foe  for  whom  the 
gods  themselves  would  mourn  !  Woe  betide  the  highly  gifted 
individuality  which  unites  with  Philistine  elements — gives  them 
rights  over  it,  and  believes  it  can  still  pursue  its  own  way — in 


CONFLICTS.  237 

any  given  case  it  will  find  pity  before  God,  sooner  than  before 
the  judgment  seat  of  this  literal  service,  and  the  spears  and 
shafts  of  its  yeomanry. 

Something  like  one  of  these  lance-thrusts  pierced  the 
countess  from  Josepha's  eyes,  as  she  bent  over  the  waking 
child. 

Josepha  tried  to  take  the  boy,  but  he  struggled  violently 
and  would  not  go  to  her.  With  sparkling,  longing  eyes  he 
nestled  in  the  arms  of  the  "  beautiful  lady."  The  countess 
drew  the  frail  little  figure  close  to  her  heart.  As  she  did  so, 
she  noticed  the  stern,  resentful  expression  of  Josepha's  dry 
cracked  lips  and  the  hectic  flush  on  the  somewhat  prominent 
cheek  bones.  There  was  something  in  the  girl's  manner 
which  displeased  her  mistress.  Had  it  been  in  her  power,  she 
would  have  dismissed  this  person,  who  "  was  constantly  alter- 
ing for  the  worse."  But  she  was  bound  to  her  by  indissoluble 
fetters,  nay,  was  dependent  upon  her — and  must  fear  her. 
She  felt  this  whenever  she  came.  Under  such  impressions, 
every  visit  to  the  castle  had  gradually  become  a  penance,  in- 
stead of  a  pleasure  Her  husband,  out  of  humor  and  full  of 
reproaches,  the  child  ill,  the  nurse  sullen  and  gloomy.  A 
spoiled  child  of  the  world,  who  had  always  had  everything 
disagreeable  removed  from  her  path,  could  not  fail  at  last  to 
avoid  a  place  where  she  could  not  breathe  freely  a  single  hour. 

"  Will  you  not  get  the  child's  breakfast,  Josepha  ?"  she 
said  wearily,  the  dark  circles  around  her  eyes  bearing  traces  of 
her  night  vigil. 

"  He  must  be  bathed  first !"  said  Josepha,  in  the  tone  which 
often  wounded  the  countess — the  tone  by  which  nurses,  to 
whose  charge  children  are  left  too  much,  instruct  young 
mothers  that,  "  if  they  take  no  care  of  their  little  ones  else- 
where, they  have  nothing  to  say  in  the  nursery." 

The  countess,  with  aristocratic  self-control,  struggled  to 
maintain  her  composure.  Then  she  said  quietly,  though  her 
voice  sounded  faint  and  hoarse :  u  The  child  seems  weak,  I 
think  it  will  be  better  to  give  him  something  to  eat  before 
washing  him." 

"Yes,"  pleaded  the  little  fellow,  "I  am  thirsty."  The 
words  reminded  the  countess  of  his  father,  as  he  said  on  the 
cross :  "  I  thirst."  When  these  memories  came,  all  the  an- 


238  ON   THE   CROSS. 

guish  of  her  once  beautiful  love — now  perishing  so  miserably 
— overwhelmed  her.  She  lifted  the  boy — he  was  light  as  a 
vapor,  a  visoin  of  mist — from  the  bed  into  her  lap,  and 
wrapped  his  little  bare  feet  in  the  folds  of  her  morning  dress. 
He  pressed  his  little  head,  crowned  with  dark,  curling  locks, 
against  her  cheek.  Such  moments  were  sweet,  but  out- 
weighed by  too  much  bitterness. 

"  Bring  him  some  milk — fresh  milk !"  Madeleine  von 
Wildenau.  repeated  in  the  slightly  imperious  tone  which  seems 
to  consider  opposition  impossible. 

"  That  will  be  entirely  different  from  his  usual  custom," 
remarked  Josepha,  as  if  the  countess'  order  had  seriously  in- 
terfered with  the  regular  mode  of  life  necessary  to  the  child. 

The  mother  perceived  this,  and  a  faint  flush  of  shame  and 
indignation  suffused  her  face,  but  instantly  vanished,  as  if 
grief  had  consumed  the  wave  of  blood  which  wrath  had  stirred. 

"  Is  your  mother — Josepha — kind  to  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
when  Josepha  had  left  the  room. 

The  boy  nodded  carelessly. 

"  She  does  not  strike  you,  she  is  gentle  ?  " 

"  No,  she  doesn't  strike  me,"  the  little  fellow  answered. 
"  She  loves  me." 

"  Do  you  love  her,  too  ?  "  the  countess  went  on. 

"  Wh — y — Yes  !  "  said  the  child,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
Then  he  looked  tenderly  into  her  face.  "  I  love  you  better." 

"  That  is  not  right,  Josepha  is  your  mother — you  must  love 
her  best." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  But  I  would 
rather  have  you  for  my  mamma." 

"  That  cannot  be — unfortunately — I  must  not." 

The  child  gazed  at  her  with  an  expression  of  sorrowful 
disappointment.  At  last  he  found  an  expedient.  "  But  in 
Heaven — when  I  go  to  Heaven—; you  will  be  my  mother 
there,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  countess  shuddered — an  indescribable  pain  pierced 
her  heart,  yet  she  was  happy,  a  blissful  anguish !  Tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes  and,  clasping  the  child  tenderly,  she 
gently  kissed  him. 

"Yes,  my  child!  In  Heaven — perhaps  I  may  be  your 
mother ! " 


CONFLICTS.  239 

Josepha  now  brought  in  the  milk  and  wanted  to  give  it  to 
him,  but  the  boy  would  not  take  it  from  her,  he  insisted  that 
the  countess  must  hold  the  bowl.  She  did  so,  but  her  hand 
trembled  and  Josepha  was  obliged  to  help  her,  or  the  whole 
contents  would  have  been  spilled.  She  averted  her  face. 

"  She  cannot  even  give  her  child  anything  to  drink," 
thought  Josepha,  as  she  moved  about  the  room,  putting  it  in 
order. 

"  Josepha,  please  leave  me  alone  a  little  while,"  said  the 
countess,  almost  beseechingly. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  Josepha's  cheeks  flushed  scarlet,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  bones  grew  still  more  prominent.  "  If  I  am  in  your 
Highness'  way — I  can  go  at  once." 

"  Josepha !  "  said  the  countess,  now  suddenly  turning 
toward  her  a  face  wet  with  tears.  "  Surely  I  might  be  allowed 
to  spend  fifteen  minutes  alone  with  my  child  without  offending 
any  one!  I  will  forgive  your  words — on  account  of  your 
natural  jealousy — and  I  think  you  already  regret  them,  do  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Josepha,  somewhat  reluctantly,  but  so  con- 
quered by  the  unhappy  mother's  words  that  she  pressed  a 
hard  half  reluctant  kiss  upon  the  countess'  hand  with  her 
rough,  parched  lips.  Then,  with  a  passionate  glance  at  the 
child,  she  gave  place  to  the  mother  whose  claim  she  would 
fain  have  disputed  before  God  Himself,  if  she  could. 

But  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  her,  the  countess 
could  bear  no  more.  Placing  the  child  in  his  little  bed,  she  flung 
herself  sobbing  beside  it.  "  My  child — my  child,  forgive  me," 
she  cried,  forgetting  all  prudence  " — pray  for  me  to  God." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Freyer  entered. 
All  that  was  stirring  the  mother's  heart  instantly  became  clear 
to  him,  as  he  saw  her  thus  broken  down  beside  the  boy's  bed. 

"  Calm  yourself — what  will  the  child  think !  "  he  said, 
bending  down  and  raising  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  Mamma !  "  said  the  boy,  stroking  the  soft  hair 
on  the  grief-bowed  head.  He  did  not  know  why  he  now  sud- 
denly called  her  "  mamma  " — perhaps  it  was  a  prospect  of 
the  heaven  where  she  would  be  his  mother,  and  he  said  it  in 
advance. 

"  Oh,  Freyer,  kill  me — I  am  worthy  of  nothing  better — cut 


240  ON   THE    CROSS. 

short  the  battle  of  a  wasted  life !  An  animal  which  cannot 
recover  is  killed  out  of  pity,  why  not  a  human  being,  who  feels 
suffering  doubly  ?  " 

"  Magdalena — Countess — I  do  not  know  you  in  this 
mood." 

"  Nor  do  I  know  myself!  What  am  I  ?  What  is  a 
mother  who  is  no  mother — a  wife  who  cannot  declare  herself 
a  wife  ?  A  fish  that  cannot  swim,  a  bird  that  cannot  fly ! 
We  kill  such  poor  crippled  creatures  out  of  sheer  compassion. 
What  kind  of  existence  is  mine  ?  An  egotist  who  nevertheless 
feels  the  pain  of  those  whom  she  renders  unhappy ;  an  aris- 
tocrat who  cannot  exist  outside  of  her  own  sphere  and  yet 
pines  for  the  eternal  verity  of  human  nature ;  a  coquette  who 
trifles  with  hearts  and  yet  would  die  for  a  genuine  feeling — 
these  are  my  traits  of  character !  Can  there  be  anything  more 
contradictory,  more  full  of  wretchedness  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  out  of  doors,  Countess,  such  conversation  is 
not  fit  for  the  child  to  hear." 

"Oh,  he  does  not  understand  it." 

"  He  understands  more  than  you  believe,  you  do  not  know 
what  questions  he  often  asks — ah,  you  deprive  yourself  of  the 
noblest  joys  by  being  unable  to  watch  the  remarkable  develop- 
ment of  this  child." 

She  nodded  silently,  absorbed  in  gazing  at  the  boy. 

"  Come,  Countess,  the  sun  has  risen — tbe  cool  morning 
air  will  do  you  good,  I  will  ring  for  Josepha  to  take  the  boy," 
he  said  quietly,  touching  the  bell. 

The  little  fellow  sat  up  in  bed,  his  breathing  was  hurried 
and  anxious,  his  large  eyes  were  fixed  imploringly  on  the 
countess:  "Oh,  mamma — dear  mamma  in  Heaven — stay — 
don't  go  away." 

"  Ah,  if  only  I  could — my  child — how  gladly  I  would  stay 
here  always.  But  I  will  come  back  again  presently,  I  will 
only  walk  in  the  sunshine  for  half-an-hour." 

"  Oh,  I  would  like  to  go  in  the  sunshine,  too.  Can't  I  go 
with  you,  and  run  about  a  little  while  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,  not  until  your  cough  is  cured,  my  poor  little 
boy  !  But  I'll  promise  to  talk  and  think  of  nothing  but  you 
until  I  return  !  Meanwhile  Josepha  shall  wash  and  dress  you, 
I  don't  understand  that — Josepha  can  do  it  better." 


CONFLICTS.  241 

"  Oh !  yes,  I'm  good  enough  for  that !  "  thought  the  girl, 
who  heard  the  last  words  just  as  she  entered. 

"  My  beautiful  mamma  has  been  crying,  because  she  is  a 
bird  and  can't  fly — "  said  the  child  to  Josepha  with  sorrowful 
sympathy.  "  But  you  can't  fly  either — nor  I  till  we  are  angels 
— then  we  can !  "  He  spread  out  his  little  arms  like  wings  as 
if  he  longed  to  soar  upward  and  away,  but  an  attack  of  cough- 
ing made  him  sink  back  upon  his  pillows. 

The  husband  and  wife  looked  at  each  other  with  the  same 
sorrowful  anxiety. 

The  countess  bent  over  the  little  bed  as  if  she  would  fain 
stifle  with  kisses  the  cough  that  racked  the  little  chest. 

"  Mamma,  it  doesn't  hurt — you  must  not  cry,"  said  the 
boy,  consolingly.  "  There  is  a  spider  inside  of  my  breast 
which  tickles  me — so  I  have  to  cough.  But  it  will  spin  a  big, 
big  net  of  silver  threads  like  those  on  the  Christmas  tree  which 
will  reach  to  Heaven,  then  I'll  climb  up  on  it ! " 

The  countess  could  scarcely  control  her  emotion.  Freyer 
drew  her  hand  through  his  arm  and  led  her  out  into  the  dewy 
morning. 

"You  are  so  anxious  about  our  secret  and  yet,  if /were 
not  conscientious  enough  to  help  you  guard  it,  you  would  be- 
tray yourself  every  moment,  you  are  imprudent  with  the  child, 
it  is  not  for  my  own  interest,  but  yours  that  I  warn  you.  Do 
not  allow  your  newly  awakened  maternal  love  to  destroy  your 
self-control  in  the  boy's  presence.  Do  not  let  him  call  you 
'  Mamma.'  Poor  mother — indeed  I  understand  how  this 
wounds  you — but — it  must  be  one  thing  or  the  other.  If  you 
cannot — or  will  not  be  a  mother  to  the  child — you  must 
renounce  this  name." 

She  bowed  her  head.  "  You  are  as  cruel  as  ever,  though 
you  are  right !  How  can  I  maintain  my  self-control,  when  I 
hear  such  words  from  the  child  ?  What  a  child  he  is !  When- 
ever I  come,  I  marvel  at  his  intellectual  progress  !  If  only  it 
is  natural,  if  only  it  is  not  the  omen  of  an  early  death  ! " 

Freyer  pitied  her  anxiety. 

"  It  is  merely  because  the  child  is  reared  in  solitude,  asso- 
ciating solely  with  two  sorrowing  people,  Josepha  and  myself; 
it  is  natural  that  his  young  soul  should  develop  into  a  graver 

16 


242  ON   THE    CROSS. 

and  more  thoughtful  character  than  other  children,"  he  said, 
consolingly. 

They  had  gone  out  upon  a  dilapidated  balcony,  overgrown 
with  vines  and  bushes.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  but  the 
surrounding  woods  and  the  mouldering  autumn  leaves  were 
white  with  hoar  frost.  Freyer  wrapped  the  shivering  woman 
in  a  cloak  which  he  had  taken  with  him.  Under  the  cold 
breath  of  the  bright  fall  morning,  and  her  husband's  cheering 
words,  she  gradually  grew  calm  and  regained  her  composure. 

"  But  something  must  be  done  with  the  child,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "  Matters  cannot  go  on  so,  he  looks  too  ethereal. 
— I  will  send  him  to  Italy  with  Josepha." 

"  Good  Heavens,  then  I  shall  be  entirely  alone  ! "  said 
Freyer,  with  difficulty  suppressing  his  dismay. 

"  Yet  it  must  be,"  replied  the  countess  firmly. 

"  How  shall  I  endure  it  ?  The  child  was  my  all,  my  good 
angel — my  right  in  darkness!  Often  his  little  hands  have 
cooled  my  brow  when  the  flames  of  madness  were  circling 
around  it.  Often  his  eyes,  his  features  have  again  revealed 
your  image  clearly  when,  during  a  long  separation,  it  had  be- 
come blurred  and  distorted.  While  gazing  at  the  child,  the 
dear,  beautiful  child,  I  felt  that  nothing  could  sever  this  sacred 
bond.  The  mother  of  this  boy  could  not  desert  her  husband 
— for  the  sake  of  this  child  she  must  love  me  !  I  said  to  myself, 
and  learned  to  trust,  to  hope,  once  more.  And  now  I  am  to 
part  from  him.  Oh,  God! — Thy  judgment  is  severe.  Thou 
didst  send  an  angel  to  comfort  Thy  divine  son  on  the  Mount 
of  Olives — Thou  dost  take  him  from  me !  Yet  not  my  will, 
but  Thine,  be  done !" 

He  bent  his  head  sadly :  "  If  it  must  be,  take  him." 

"  The  child  is  ill,  I  have  kept  him  shut  up  in  these  damp 
rooms  too  long,  he  needs  sunshine  and  milder  air.  If  he  were 
obliged  to  spend  another  winter  in  this  cold  climate,  it  would 
be  his  death.  But  if  it  is  so  hard  for  you  to  be  separated  from 
the  boy — go  with  him.  I  will  hire  a  villa  for  you  and  Josepha 
somewhere  on  the  Riviera.  It  will  do  you  good,  too,  to  leave 
this  nook  hidden  among  the  woods — and  I  cannot  shelter  you 
here  in  Bavaria  where  every  one  knows  you,  without  betraying 
our  relation." 

Freyer   gazed  at  her  with  a  mournful   smile :  "And   you 


CONFLICTS.  243 

think — that  I  would  go  ?"  He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  can- 
not make  it  so  easy  for  you.  We  are  still  husband  and  wife, 
I  am  still  yours,  as  you  are  mine.  And  though  you  so  rarely 
come  to  me — if  during  the  whole  winter  there  was  but  a  single 
hour  when  you  needed  a  heart,  you  must  find  your  husband's, 
I  must  be  here !"  He  drew  her  gently  to  his  breast.  "No, 
my  wife,  it  would  have  been  a  comfort,  if  I  could  have  kept 
the  child — but  if  you  must  take  him  from  me,  I  will  bear  this, 
too,  like  everything  which  comes  from  your  hand,  be  it  life  or 
death — nothing  shall  part  me  from  you,  not  even  love  for  my 
boy." 

There  was  something  indescribable  in  the  expression  with 
which  he  gazed  at  her  as  he  uttered  the  simple  words,  and  she 
clung  to  him  overwhelmed  by  such  unexampled  fidelity,  which 
thus  sacrificed  the  only,  the  last  blessing  he  possessed  for  a 
single  hour  with  her. 

"  My  husband — my  kind,  noble  husband !  The  most 
generous  heart  in  all  the  world  !"  she  cried,  caressing  him 
again  and  again  as  she  gazed  rapturously  at  the  beautiful  face, 
so  full  of  dignity :  "  You  shall  not  make  the  sacrifice  for  a 
single  hour,  your  wife  will  come  and  reward  your  loyalty  with 
a  thousand-fold  greater  love.  Often — often.  Perhaps  oftener 
than  ever !  For  I  feel  that  the  present  condition  of  affairs 
cannot  last.  I  must  be  permitted  to  be  wife  and  mother — I 
realized  to-day  at  the  bedside  of  my  child  that  my  guilt,  too, 
was  growing  year  by  year.  It  is  time  for  me  to  atone.  When 
I  return  home  I  will  seriously  consider  what  can  be  done  to 
make  an  arrangement  with  my  relatives !  I  need  not  confess 
that  I  am  already  married — I  could  say  that  I  might  marry  if 
they  would  pay  me  a  sufficient  sum,  but  I  would  not  do  so,  if 
they  refused  me  the  means  to  live  in  a  style  which  befitted  my 
rank.  Then  they  will  probably  prefer  to .  make  a  sacrifice 
which  would  enable  me  to  many,  thereby  giving  them  the 
whole  property,  rather  than  to  compel  me,  by  their  avarice,  to 
remain  a  widow  and  keep  the  entire  fortune."  That  would  be 
a  capital  idea !  Do  you  see  how  inventive  love  is  ?  "  she  said 
with  charming  coquetry,  expecting  his  joyful  assent. 

But  he  turned  away  with  clouded  brow — it  seemed  as 
though  an  icy  wind  had  suddenly  swept  over  the  whole  sunny 
landscape,  transforming  everything  into  a  wintry  aspect. 


244  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  Falsehood  and  deception  everywhere — even  in  the  most 
sacred  things.  When  I  hear  you  speak  so,  my  heart  shrinks ! 
So  noble  a  woman  as  you  to  stoop  to  falsehood  and  deceit,  like 
one  of  the  basest !" 

The  countess  stood  motionless,  with  downcast  lids,  shame 
and  pride  were  both  visible  on  her  brow.  Her  heart,  too, 
shrank,  and  an  icy  chill  encompassed  it. 

"  And  what  better  proposal  would  you  make  ?" 

"  None!"  said  Freyer  in  a  low  tone,  "  for  the  only  one  I 
could  suggest  you  would  not  accept.  It  would  be  to  atone 
for  the  wrong  you  have  committed,  frankly  confess  how  every- 
thing happened,  and  then  retire  with  your  husband  and  child 
into  solitude  and  live  plainly,  but  honestly.  The  world  would 
laugh  at  you,  it  is  true,  but  the  noble-hearted  would  honor 
you.  I  cannot  imagine  that  any  moral  happiness  is  to  be  pur- 
chased by  falsehood  and  deceit — there  is  but  one  way  which 
leads  to  God — the  way  of  truth — every  other  is  delusive !" 

The  beautiful  woman  gazed  at  him  in  involuntary  admira- 
tion. This  was  the  inward  majesty  by  which  the  lowly  man 
had  formerly  so  awed  her;  and  deeply  as  he  shamed  and 
wounded  her,  she  bowed  to  this  grandeur.  Yet  she  could 
no  longer  bear  his  gaze,  she  felt  humbled  before  him,  her 
pleasure  in  his  companionship  was  destroyed.  She  stood  be- 
fore the  man  whom  she  believed  so  far  beneath  her,  like  a 
common  criminal,  convicted  of  the  most  petty  falsehood,  the 
basest  treachery.  She  fairly  loathed  herself.  Where  was 
there  anything  to  efface  this  brand  ?  Where  was  the  pride 
which  could  raise  her  above  this  disgrace  ?  In  her  conscious- 
ness of  rank?  Woe  betide  her,  what  would  her  peers  say  if 
they  knew  her  position  ?  Would  she  not  be  cast  out  from 
every  circle  ?  What  was  there  which  would  again  restore  her 
honor  ?  She  knew  no  dignity,  no  honor  save  those  which  the 
world  bestows,  and  to  save  them,  at  any  cost  and  by  any 
means— she  sank  still  lower  in  her  own  eyes  and  those  of  the 
poor,  but  honorable  man  who  had  more  cause  to  be  ashamed 
of  her  than  she  of  him. 

She  must  return  home,  she  must  again  see  her  palace,  her 
servants,  her  world,  in  order  to  believe  that  she  was  still  her- 
self, that  the  ground  was  still  firm  under  her  feet,  for  everything 
in  and  around  her  was  wavering. 


CONFLICTS.  245 

"  Please  order  the  horses  to  be  harnessed !"  she  said,  turn- 
ing toward  the  half  ruined  door  through  which  they  had  come 
out  of  the  house. 

It  had  indeed  grown  dull  and  cold.  A  pallid  autumnal  fog 
was  shrouding  the  forest.  It  looked  doubtful  whether  it  was 
going  to  rain  or  snow. 

"  I  have  the  open  carriage — I  should  like  to  get  home  be- 
fore it  rains,"  she  said,  apologetically,  without  looking  at  him. 

Freyer  courteously  opened  the  heavy  ancient  iron  door. 
They  walked  silently  along  a  dark,  cold,  narrow  passage  to 
the  door  of  the  boy's  room. 

"  I  will  go  and  have  the  horses  harnessed,"  said  Freyer, 
and  the  countess  entered  the  chamber. 

She  took  an  absent  leave  of  the  child.  She  did  not  notice 
how  he  trembled  at  the  news  that  she  was  going  home,  she 
did  not  hear  him  plead  :  "  Take  me  with  you  !"  She  com- 
forted him  as  usual  with  the  promise  that  she  would  soon 
come  again,  and  beckoned  Josepha  out  of  the  room.  The 
boy  gazed  after  her  with  the  expression  of  a  dying  roe,  and  a 
few  large  tears  rolled  down  his  pale  cheeks.  The  mother  saw 
it,  but  she  could  not  remain,  her  stay  here  was  over  for  that 
day.  Outside  she  informed  Josepha  of  the  plan  of  sending 
her  and  the  child  to  Italy,  but  the  latter  shook  her  head. 

"  The  child  needs  nothing  but  its  mother,"  she  said,  piti- 
lessly, "  it  longs  only  for  you,  and  if  you  send  it  still  farther 
away,  it  will  die." 

The  countess  stood  as  if  sentenced. 

"  When  you  are  with  him,  he  revives,  and  when  you  have 
gone,  he  droops  like  a  flower  without  the  sun  !" 

"  Oh  Heaven  !"  moaned  the  countess,  pressing  her  clasped 
hands  to  her  brow  :  "What  is  to  be  done !" 

"  If  you  could  take  the  boy,  it  would  be  the  best  cure. 
The  child  need's  a  mother's  love ;  that  would  be  more  benefi- 
cial to  him  than  all  the  travelling  in  the  world.  You  have  no 
idea  how  he  clings  to  his  mother.  It  really  seems  as  if  you 
had  bewitched  him.  All  day  long  he  wears  himself  out  listen- 
ing and  watching  for  the  roll  of  the  carriage,  and  when  even- 
ing comes  and  the  hour  that  you  usually  drive  up  arrives,  his 
little  hands  are  burning  with  fever  from  expectation.  And 
then  he  sees  how  his  father  longs  for  you.  A  child  like  him 


246  ON    THE    CROSS. 

notices  everything  and,  when  his  father  is  sad,  he  is  sorrowful, 
too.  'She  is  not  coming  to-day !' he  said  a  short  time  ago, 
stroking  his  father's  cheek;  he  knew  perfectly  well  what 
troubled  him.  A  delicate  little  body  like  his  is  soon  worn  out 
by  constant  yearning.  Every  kid,  every  fawn,  cries  for  its 
mother.  Here  in  the  woods  I  often  hear  the  young  deer, 
whose  mother  has  been  shot,  wail  and  cry  all  night  long,  and 
must  not  a  child  who  has  sense  and  affection  long  for  its 
mother  ?  You  sit  in  your  beautiful  rooms  at  home  and  don't 
hear  how  up  here  in  this  dreary  house  with  us  two  melancholy 
people,  the  poor  child  asks  for  the  mother  who  is  his  all." 

"  Josepha,  you  will  kill  me !" 

The  countess  clung  to  the  door-post  for  support,  her  brain 
fairly  whirled. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  kill  you,  Countess,  I  only  want  to  prevent 
your  killing  the  child,"  said  Josepha  with  flaming  eyes.  "  Do 
you  suppose  that,  if  I  could  supply  a  mother's  place  to  the 
boy,  I  would  beg  you  for  what  is  every  child's  right,  and 
which  every  mother  who  has  a  mother's  heart  in  her  breast 
would  give  of  her  own  accord  ?  Certainly  not.  I  would  steal 
the  child's  heart,  which  you  are  starving — ere  I  would  give 
you  one  kind  word,  and  you  might  beg  in  vain  for  your  son's 
love,  as  I  now  beseech  his  mother's  for  him.  But  the  poor 
little  fellow  knows  very  well  who  his  mother  is,  and  no 
matter  what  I  do — he  will  not  accept  me  !  That  is  why  I 
tell  you  just  how  matters  are.  Do  what  you  choose  with  me 
— I  no  longer  fear  anything — if  the  child  cannot  be  saved  I 
am  done  with  the  world!  You  know  me — and  know  that  I 
set  no  value  on  life.  You  have  made  it  no  dearer  to  me  than 
it  was  when  we  first  met." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  a  small  white 
figure  appeared.  The  boy  had  heard  Josepha's  passionate 
tone  and  came  to  his  mother's  assistance :  "  Mamma,  my  dear 
mamma  in  Heaven,  what  is  she  doing  to  you  ?  She  shan't 
hurt  you.  Wicked  mamma  Josepha,  that's  why  I  don't  like 
you,  you  are  always  scolding  the  beautiful,  kind  lady." 

He  threw  his  little  arm  around  his  mother's  neck,  as  if  to 
protect  her. 

"  Oh,  you  angel !  "  cried  the  countess,  lifting  him  in  her 
arms  to  press  him  to  her  heart. 


UNACCOUNTAELE.  347 

The  rattle  of  wheels  was  heard  outside — the  countess'  four 
horses  were  coming.  To  keep  the  fiery  animals  waiting  was  im- 
possible. Freyer  hastily  announced  the  carriage,  the  horses  were 
very  unruly  that  day.  The  countess  gave  the  boy  to  Josepha's 
care.  Freyer  silently  helped  her  into  the  equipage,  everything 
passed  like  a  flash  of  lightning  for  the  horses  were  already 
starting — one  gloomy  glance  was  exchanged  between  the  hus- 
band and  wife — the  farewell  of  strangers — and  away  dashed 
the  light  vehicle  through  the  autumn  mists.  The  mother 
fancied  she  heard  her  boy  weeping  as  she  drove  off,  and  felt  as 
if  Josepha  had  convicted  her  of  the  murder  of  the  child.  But 
she  would  atone  for  it — some  day — soon !  It  seemed  as  if  a 
voice  within  was  crying  aloud  :  "  My  child,  my  child ! "  An 
icy  moisture  stood  in  drops  upon  her  brow;  was  it  the  sweat  of 
anxiety,  or  dew  ?  She  did  not  know,  she  could  no  longer 
think,  she  was  sinking  under  all  the  anxieties  which  had  pressed 
upon  her  that  day.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  back  in 
the  carriage  as  if  fainting,  while  the  horses  rushed  swiftly  on 
with  their  light  burden  toward  their  goal. 

The  hours  flew  past.  The  equipage  drove  up  to  the  Wild- 
enau  palace,  but  she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it.  All  sorts 
of  plans  and  resolutions  were  whirling  through  her  brain.  She 
was  assisted  from  the  carriage  and  ascended  the  carpeted 
marble  stairs.  Two  letters  were  lying  on  the  table  in  her 
boudoir.  The  prince  had  been  there  and  left  one,  a  note, 
which  contained  only  the  words :  "  You  will  perceive  that  at 
the  present  time  you  dare  not  refuse  this  position. 

"  The  friend  who  means  most  kindly." 

The  other  letter,  in  a  large  envelope,  was  an  official  docu- 
ment. Countess  Wildenau  had  been  appointed  mistress  of 
ceremonies ! 

CHAPTER  XXI. 


UNACCOUNTABLE. 


A  MOMENT — and  a  turning  point  in  a  life ! 
The    countess    was   "herself"   again,   as    she    called  it. 
"  Thank  God !  " 

The  Ammergau  episode — with  all  its  tragic  consequer  ces 


248  ON   THE   CROSS. 

— belonged  to  the  past.  To-day,  under  the  emotional  impres- 
sions and  external  circumstances  at  that  luckless  castle,  where 
everything  conspired  against  her,  she  had  thought  seriously  of 
breaking  with  her  traditions  and  the  necessities  of  life,  faced 
the  thought  of  poverty  and  shame  so  boldly  that  this  appoint- 
ment to  the  highest  position  at  court  saved  her  from  the  gulf 
of  ruin.  Stopped  at  the  last  moment,  tottering,  giddy,  the 
startled  woman  sought  to  find  a  firm  footing  once  more.  She 
felt  like  a  suicide,  who  is  not  really  in  earnest,  and  rejoices  when 
some  one  prevents  his  design. 

She  stood  holding  the  document  in  her  hand.  This  was 
truth,  reality,  the  necessity  for  self-destruction  was  imagination. 
The  disgrace  whose  brand  she  already  felt  upon  her  brow 
could  no  longer  approach  her ! 

She  set  her  foot  upon  the  shaggy  skin  of  a  lion — the  earth 
did  not  yet  reel  beneath  her.  She  pressed  her  burning  brow 
against  a  slender  marble  column — this,  too,  was  still  firm! 
She  passed  her  slender  fingers  over  the  silk  plush  of  the  divan 
on  which  she  reclined  and  rejoiced  that  it  was  still  hers.  Her 
eye,  intoxicated  with  beauty,  wandered  over  the  hundreds  of 
art-treasures,  pictures  and  statues  from  every  land  with  which 
she  had  adorned  her  rooms — nothing  was  lacking.  Upon  a 
pedestal  stood  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  whose  pure  marble 
glowed  warmly  in  a  sunbeam  shining  through  red  curtains,  as 
if  real  blood  were  circulating  in  the  stone.  The  wondrous 
face  smiled  in  divine  repose  upon  the  motley  array,  which  the 
art  and  industry  of  centuries  had  garnered  here. 

The  past  and  the  present  here  closed  their  bewitching 
chain.  Yonder  stood  a  Venus  de  Milo,  revealing  to  the 
charming  owner  the  majesty  of  her  own  beauty.  In  a  corner 
filled  with  flowers,  a  bathing  nymph,  by  a  modern  master, 
timidly  concealed  herself.  In  a  Gothic  niche  a  dying  Christ 
closed  his  eyes  to  the  splendor  of  the  world  and  the  senses. 
It  was  a  Christ  after  the  manner  of  Gabriel  Max,  which  opened 
and  shut  its  eyes.  Not  far  away  the  portrait  of  the  countess, 
painted  with  the  genius  of  Lenbach  stood  forth  from  the  dark 
frame — the  type  of  a  drawing-room  blossom.  Clad  in  a  soft 
white  robe  of  Oriental  stuff  embroidered  with  gold,  heavy 
enough  to  cling  closely  to  the  figure — light  enough  to  float 
away  so  far  as  to  reveal  all  that  fashion  and  propriety  permit- 


UNACCOUNTABLE.  249 

ted  to  be  seen  of  the  beauty  of  a  wonderful  neck  and  arm. 
And,  as  Lenbach  paints  not  only  the  outward  form  but  the 
inward  nature,  a  tinge  of  melancholy,  of  yearning  and  thought- 
fulness  rested  upon  the  fair  face,  which  made  the  beholder  al- 
most forget  the  beauty  of  the  form  in  that  of  the  soul,  while 
gazing  into  the  spiritual  eyes  which  seemed  to  seek  some  other 
home  than  this  prosaic  earth.  Just  in  the  direction  of  her 
glance,  Hermes,  the  messenger  of  death,  bent  his  divine  face 
from  a  group  of  palms  and  dried  grasses.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
beheld  all  these  things  for  the  first  time — as  if  they  had  been 
newly  given  back  to  her  that  day  after  she  had  believed  them 
lost.  Her  breath  almost  failed  at  the  thought  that  she  had 
been  on  the  point  of  resigning  it  all — and  for  what  ?  All  these 
treasures  of  immortal  beauty  and  art — for  a  weeping  child  and 
a  surly  man,  who  loved  in  her  only  the  housewife,  which  any 
maid-servant  can  be,  but  understood  what  she  really  was, 
what  really  constituted  her  dignity  and  charm  no  more  than 
he  would  comprehend  Lenbach's  picture,  which  reflected  to 
her  her  own  person  transfigured  and  ennobled.  She  gazed  at 
herself  with  proud  satisfaction.  Should  such  a  woman  sacrifice 
herself  to  a  man  who  scarcely  knew  the  meaning  of  beauty  ! 
Destroy  herself  for  an  illusion  of  the  imagination  ?  She  rang 
the  bell — she  felt  the  necessity  of  ordering  something,  to  be 
sure  that  she  was  still  mistress  of  the  house. 

The  lackey  entered.     "  Your  Highness  ?  " 

Thank  Heaven  !     Her  servants  still  obeyed  her. 

"  Send  over  to  the  Barnheim  Palace,  and  invite  the  Prince 
to  dine  with  me  at  six.  Then  serve  lunch." 

"Very  well.     Has  Your  Highness  any  other  orders  ?  " 

"  The  maid." 

"  Yes,  Your  Highesss." 

The  man  left  the  room  with  the  noiseless,  solemn  step  of 
a  well-trained  lackey. 

"  How  can  any  one  live  without  servants  ?  "  the  countess 
asked  herself,  looking  after  him.  "  What  should  I  have  done, 
if  I  had  dismissed  mine  ?  "  She  shuddered.  Now  that  regal 
luxury  again  surrounded  her  she  was  a  different  person  from  this 
morning.  No  doubt  she  still  felt  what  she  had  suffered  that 
day,  but  only  as  we  dimly,  after  waking  from  a  fevered  dream, 
realize  the  tortures  we  have  endured. 


250  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Some  one  knocked,  and  the  maid  entered. 

"  I  will  take  a  bath  before  lunch.  I  feel  very  ill.  Pour  a 
bottle  of  vinaigre  de  Bouilli  into  the  water.  I  will  come 
directly." 

The  maid  disappeared. 

Everything  still  went  on  like  clock-work.  Nothing  had 
changed — no  one  noticed  what  she  had  almost  done  that  day. 
The  struggle  was  over.  The  royal  order,  which  it  would  have 
been  madness  to  oppose,  had  determined  her  course. 

But  her  nerves  were  still  quivering  from  the  experiences  of 
the  day. 

The  child,  if  only  she  were  not  hampered  by  the  child ! 
That  was  the  only  thing  which  would  not  allow  her  to  breathe 
freely — it  was  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  That  was  the  wound 
in  her  heart  which  could  never  be  healed.  She  would  always 
long  for  the  boy — as  he  would  for  her.  Yet,  what  did  this 
avail,  nothing  could  be  changed,  she  must  do  what  reason  and 
necessity  required.  At  least  for  the  present;  nay,  there  was 
even  something  beautiful  in  a  sorrow  borne  with  aristocratic 
dignity !  By  the  depth  of  the  wound,  we  proudly  measure 
the  depth  of  our  own  hearts. 

She  pleased  herself  with  the  idea  of  doing  the  honors  as 
mistress  of  ceremonies  to  kings  and  emperors,  while  yearning 
in  the  depths  of  her  soul  for  a  poor  orphaned  child,  the  son  of 
the  proud  Countess  Wildenau — whose  husband  was  a  peasant. 
Only  a  nature  of  the  elasticity  of  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's 
could  sink  so  low  and  yet  soar  so  high,  without  losing  its 
equilibrium. 

These  were  the  oscillations  which  Ludwig  Gross  once 
said  were  necessary  to  such  natures — though  their  radii  passed 
through  the  lowest  gulfs  of  human  misery  to  the  opposite 
heights.  Coquetry  is  not  only  cruel  to  others,  but  to  itself — 
in  the  physical  tortures  which  it  endures  for  the  sake  of  an  un- 
comfortable fashion,  and  the  spiritual  ones  with  which  it  pays 
for  its  triumphs. 

This  was  the  case  with  the  countess.  During  her  first  un- 
happy marriage  she  had  learned  to  control  the  most  despair- 
ing moods  and  be  "  amusing  "  with  an  aching  heart.  What 
marvel  that  she  deemed  it  a  matter  of  course  that  she  must 
subdue  the  gnawing  grief  of  her  maternal  love.  So  she  coquet- 


UNACCOUNTABLE.  2JI 

ted  even  with  suffering  and  found  pleasure  in  bearing  it  grace- 
fully. 

She  sat  down  at  her  writing-desk,  crowned  with  Canova's 
group  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  and  wrote : 

"  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND  !  In  my  haste  I  can  only  inform  you 
that  I  shall  be  unable  to  come  out  immediately  to  arrange 
Josepha's  journey.  I  have  been  appointed  mistress  of  cere- 
monies to  the  queen  and  must  obey  the  summons.  Mean- 
while, let  Josepha  prepare  for  the  trip,  I  will  send  the  direc- 
tions for  the  journey  and  the  money  to-day.  Give  the  boy 
my  love,  kiss  him  for  me,  and  comfort  him  with  the  promise 
that  I  will  visit  him  in  the  Riviera  when  I  can.  Amid  the 
new  scenes  he  will  soon  forget  me  and  cease  waiting  and  ex- 
pecting. The  Southern  climate  will  benefit  his  health,  and  we 
shall  have  all  the  more  pleasure  in  him  afterward.  He  must 
remain  there  at  least  a  year  to  regain  his  strength. 

"  I  write  hastily,  for  many  business  matters  and  ceremonies 
must  be  settled  within  the  next  few  days.  It  is  hard  for 
me  to  accept  this  position,  which  binds  me  still  more 
closely  in  the  fetters  I  was  on  the  eve  of  stripping  off!  But 
to  make  the  king  and  queen  my  enemies  at  the  very  moment 
when  I  need  powerful  friends  more  than  ever,  would  be  defy- 
ing fate !  It  will  scarcely  be  possible  for  me  now  to  come  out 
as  often  as  I  promised  you  to-day.  But,  if  you  become  too 
lonely,  you  can  occasionally  come  in  as  my  "  steward,"  osten- 
sibly to  bring  me  reports — in  this  way  we  shall  see  each  other 
and  I  will  give  orders  that  the  steward  shall  be  admitted  to  me 
at  any  time,  and  have  a  suitable  office  and  apartments  as- 
signed to  him  '  as  I  shall  now  be  unable  to  look  after  the 
estates  so  much  myself.' 

"  If  I  cannot  receive  you  at  once,  you  will  wait  in  your  room 
until  your  wife,  freed  from  the  restraint  and  duties  of  the  day, 
will  fly  to  your  arms. 

"  Is  not  this  admirably  arranged  ?  Are  you  at  last  satis- 
fied, you  discontented  man  ? 

"  You  see  that  I  am  doing  all  that  is  possible  !  Or  Ay  do 
not  be  angry  with  me  because  I  also  do  what  reason  demands. 
I  must  secure  to  my  child  the  solid  foundations  of  a  safe  and 
well-ordered  existence,  since  we  must  not,  for  the  sake  of  sen- 
timent, aimlessly  shatter  our  own  destiny.  How  would  it 


252  ON   THE   CROSS. 

benefit  the  sick  child  if  I  denounced  myself  and  was  com- 
pelled to  give  up  the  whole  of  my  private  fortune  to  compen- 
sate my  first  husband's  relatives  for  what  I  have  spent 
illegally  since  my  second  marriage  ?  I  could  not  even  do 
anything  more  for  my  son's  health,  and  should  be  forced  to 
see  him  pine  away  in  some  mountain  hamlet — perhaps  Am- 
mergau  itself,  whither  I  should  wander  with  my  household 
goods  and  you,  like  some  vagrant's  family.  The  boys  there 
would  stone  him  and  call  him  in  mockery,  the  '  little  Count.' 
The  snow-storms  would  lash  him  and  completely  destroy  his 
delicate  lungs. 

"  No,  if  I  did  not  fear  poverty  for  myself,  I  must  do  so  for 
you.  How  would  you  endure  to  have  the  Ammergau  people — 
and  where  else  could  you  find  employment — point  their  fingers 
at  you  and  say  :  '  Look,  that  is  Freyer,  who  ran  away  with  a 
countess  !  He  did  a  fine  thing  ' — and  then  laugh  jeeringly. 

"  My  Joseph !  Keep  your  love  for  me,  and  let  me  have 
judgment  for  you,  then  all  will  be  well.  In  love, 

YOUR  M." 

She  did  not  suspect,  when  she  ended  her  letter,  very  well 
satisfied  with  her  dialectics,  that  Freyer  after  reading  it  would 
throw  the  torn  fragments  on  the  floor. 

This  cold,  frivolous  letter — this  change  from  the  mood  of 
yesterday — this  act  after  all  her  promises !  He  had  again 
been  deceived  and  disappointed,  again  hoped  and  believed  in 
vain.  All,  all  on  which  he  had  relied  was  destroyed,  the 
moral  elevation  of  his  beloved  wife,  which  would  at  last  restore 
to  her  husband  and  child  their  sacred  rights — was  a  lie,  and 
instead,  by  way  of  compensation,  came  the  offer — of  the  posi- 
tion of  a  lover. 

He  was  to  seek  his  wife  under  the  cover  of  the  darkness, 
as  a  man  seeks  his  inamorata — he,  her  husband,  the  father  of 
her  child !  "  No,  Countess,  the  steward  will  not  steal  into 
your  castle,  in  order  when  you  have  enjoyed  all  the  pleasures 
of  the  day,  to  afford  you  the  excitement  of  a  stolen  intrigue. 

"  Though  the  scorn  and  derision  of  the  people  of  my  native 
village  would  wound  me  sorely,  as  you  believe — I  would  rather 
work  with  them  as  a  day-laborer,  than  to  play  before  your 
lackeys  the  part  which  you  assign  me."  This  was  his  only 
answer.  He  was  well  aware  that  it  would  elicit  only  a  shrug 


UNACCOUNTABLE.  353 

of  the  shoulders,  and  a  pitying  smile,  but  he  could  not 
help  it. 

It  was  evening  when  the  countess'  letter  reached  him,  and 
while,  by  the  dim  light  of  the  hanging  lamp,  in  mortal  anguish 
he  composed  at  the  bedside  of  the  feverish  child  this  clumsy 
and  unfortunately  mis-spelled  reply,  the  folding-doors  of  the 
brilliantly  lighted  dining-room  in  the  Wildenau  palace,  were 
thrown  open  and  the  prince  offered  his  arm  to  the  countess. 

She  was  her  brilliant  self  again.  She  had  taken  a  perfumed 
bath,  answered  the  royal  letter,  made  several  sketches  for  new 
court  costumes  and  sent  them  to  Paris. 

She  painted  with  unusual  skill,  and  the  little  water-color 
figures  which  she  sent  to  her  modistes,  were  real  works  of  art, 
far  superior  to  those  in  the  fashion  journals. 

"  Your  Highness  might  earn  your  bread  in  this  way" — said 
the  maid  flatteringly,  and  a  strange  thrill  stirred  the  countess 
at  these  words.  She  had  made  herself  a  costume  book,  in 
which  she  had  painted  all  the  toilettes  she  had  worn  since  her 
entrance  into  society,  and  often  found  amusement  in  turning 
the  leaves;  what  memories  the  sight  of  the  old  clothes 
evoked  !  From  the  heavy  silver  wrought  brocade  train  of  old 
Count  Wildenau's  young  bride,  down  to  the  airy  little  summer 
gown  which  she  had  worn  nine  years  ago  in  Ammergau. 
From  the  stiff,  regulation  court  costume  down  to  the  simple 
woolen  morning  gown  in  which  she  had  that  morning  spent 
hours  of  torture  on  account  of  that  Ammergau  "  delusion." 
But  at  the  maid's  words  she  shut  the  book  as  if  startled  and 
rose  :  "  I  will  give  you  the  dress  I  wore  this  morning,  but  on 
condition  that  I  never  see  it." 

"Your  Highness  is  too  kind,  I  thank  you  most  humbly," 
said  the  delighted  woman,  kissing  the  sleeve  of  the  countess' 
combing-mantle — she  would  not  have  ventured  to  kiss  her 
hand. 

The  dinner  toilette  was  quickly  completed,  and  when  the 
countess  looked  in  the  glass  she  seemed  to  herself  more  beau- 
tiful than  ever.  The  melancholy  expression  around  her  eyes, 
and  a  slight  trace  of  tears  which  she  had  shed,  lent  the  pale 
tea-rose  a  tinge  of  color  which  was  marvellously  becoming. 

The  day  was  over,  and  when  the  prince  came  to  dinner  at 
six  o'clock  she  received  him  with  all  her  former  charm. 


254  ON  THE  CROSS. 

"  To  whom  do  I  owe  this — Prince  ?"  she  said  smiling, 
holding  out  the  official  letter. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?" 

"  Because  you  only  can  tell !" 

"  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  you.  Who  else  would  have  proposed  me  to  their 
Majesties  ?  Don't  try  to  deceive  me  by  that  air  of  innocence. 
I  don't  trust  it.  You,  and  no  one  else  would  do  me  this 
friendly  service,  for  everything  good  comes  through  you. 
You  are  not  only  a  great  and  powerful  man — you  are  also  a 
good  and  noble  one — my  support,  my  Providence  !  I  thank 
you." 

She  took  both  his  hands  in  hers  and  offered  him  her  fore- 
head to  kiss,  with  a  glance  of  such  sincere  admiration  and 
gratitude,  that  in  his  surprise  and  joy  he  almost  missed  the 
permitted  goal  and  touched  her  lips  instead.  But  fortunately, 
he  recollected  himself  and  almost  timidly  pressed  the  soft 
curls  which  quivered  lightly  like  the  delicate  tendrils  of  flowers. 

"  I  cannot  resist  this  gratitude !  Yes,  my  august  cousin, 
the  queen,  did  have  the  grace  to  consider  my  proposal  as 
'  specially  agreeable '  to  her.  But,  my  dear  Countess,  you 
must  have  been  passing  through  terrible  experiences  to  lavish 
such  undue  gratitude  upon  the  innocent  instigator  of  such  a 
trifle  as  this  appointment  as  mistress  of  ceremonies,  for  whose 
acceptance  we  must  be  grateful  to  you.  There  is  a  touch  of 
almost  timidity  in  your  manner,  my  poor  Madeleine,  as  if  you 
had  lost  the  self-control  which,  with  all  your  feminine  grace, 
gave  your  bearing  so  firm  a  poise.  You  do  yourself  injustice. 
You  must  shake  off  this  oppression.  That  is  why  I  ventured 
to  push  the  hands  of  the  clock  of  life  a  little  and  secured  this 
position,  which  will  leave  you  no  time  for  torturing  yourself 
with  fancies.  That  is  what  you  need  most.  Unfortunately  I 
cannot  lift  from  those  beautiful  shoulders  the  burden  you 
yourself  have  probably  laid  upon  them ;  but  I  will  aid  you 
gradually,  to  strip  it  off. 

j~  "  The  world  in  which  you  are  placed  needs  you — you  must 
live  for  it  and  ought  not  to  withdraw  your  powers,  your  intel- 
lect, your  charm.  You  are  created  for  a  lofty  position !  I  do 
not  mean  a  subordinate  one — that  of  a  mistress  of  ceremonies. 
This  is  merely  a  temporary  palliative — I  mean  that  of  a  reign- 


UNACCOUNTABLE. 


25S 


ing  princess,  who  has  to  provide  for  the  physu  al  and  intel- 
lectual welfare  of  a  whole  nation.  When  in  your  present 
office  you  have  become  reconciled  to  the  world  and  its  con- 
ditions— perhaps  the  day  will  come  when  I  shall  be  permitted 
to  offer  you  that  higher  place  !" 

The  countess  stood  with  her  hands  resting  on  the  table 
and  her  eyes  bent  on  the  floor.  Her  heart  was  throbbing 
violently — her  breath  was  short  and  hurried.  One  thought 
whirled  through  her  brain.  "  You  might  have  had  all  this  and 
forfeited  it  forever !  "  The  consciousness  of  her  marred  des- 
tiny overwhelmed  her  with  all  its  power.  What  a  contrast  be- 
tween the  prince,  the  perfect  product  of  culture,  who  took  into 
account  all  the  demands  of  her  rank  and  character,  and  the 
narrow,  limited  child  of  nature,  her  husband,  who  found  cause 
for  reproach  in  everything  which  the  trained  man  of  the 
world  regarded  as  a  matter  of  course.  Freyer  tortured  her 
and  humbled  her  in  her  own  eyes,  while  the  prince  tenderly 
cherished  her.  Freyer — like  the  embodiment  of  Christian  as- 
ceticism— required  from  her  everything  she  disliked  while 
Prince  Emil  desired  nothing  save  to  see  her  beautiful,  happy,  and 
admired,  and  made  it  her  duty  to  enjoy  life  as  suited  her  edu- 
cation and  tastes !  She  would  fain  have  thrown  herself  exult- 
ingly  into  the  arms  of  her  preserver  and  said :  "  Take  me  and 
bear  me  up  again  on  the  waves  of  life  ere  I  fall  into  the  power 
of  that  gloomy  God  whose  power  is  nurtured  on  the  blood  of 
the  murdered  joys  of  His  followers." 

Suddenlyit  seemed  as  if  some  one  else  was  in  the  room 
gazing  intently  at  her.  She  looked  up — the  eyes  of  the  Christ 
in  the  Gothic  niche  were  bent  fixedly  on  her.  "  Are  you  look- 
ing at  me  again  ?"  asked  a  voice  in  her  terror-stricken  soul. 
"  Can  you  never  die  ?" 

It  was  even  so;  He  could  not  die  on  the  cross,  He  cannot 
die  in  her  heart.  Even  though  it  was  but  a  moment  that  He 
appeared  to  mortal  eyes  in  the  Passion  Play,  He  will  live  for 
ever  to  all  who  experienced  that  moment. 

Her  uplifted  arms  fell  as  if  paralyzed,  and  she  faltered  in 
broken  sentences  :  "  Not  another  word,  Prince — in  Heaven's 
name — do  not  lead  me  into  temptation.  Banish  every  thought 
of  me — you  do  not  know — oh  !  I  was  never  worthy  of  you, 
have  never  recognized  all  your  worth — and  now  when  I  do— 


256  ON   THE    CROSS. 

now  it  is  too  late."  She  could  say  no  more,  tears  were  trem- 
bling on  her  lashes.  She  again  glanced  timidly  at  the  painted 
Christ — He  had  now  closed  His  eyes,  His  expression  was 
more  peaceful. 

The  prince  gazed  at  her  earnestly,  but  quietly.  "  Ah, 
there  is  a  false  standpoint  which  must  be  removed.  It  will 
cost  something,  I  see.  Calm  yourself — you  have  nothing 
more  to  fear  from  me — I  was  awkward — it  was  not  the  proper 
moment,  I  ought  to  have  known  it.  Do  you  remember  our 
conversation  nine  years  ago,  on  the  way  to  the  Passion  Play  ? 
At  that  time  a  phantom  stood  between  us.  It  has  since  as- 
sumed a  tangible  form,  has  it  not  ?  I  saw  this  coming,  but 
unfortunately  could  not  avert  it.  But  consider — it  is  and  will 
always  remain — a  phantom !  Such  spectres  can  be  fatal  only 
to  eccentric  imaginative  women  like  you  who,  in  addition  to 
imagination,  also  possess  a  strongly  idealistic  tendency  which 
impresses  an  ethical  meaning  upon  everything  they  feel.  With 
a  nature  like  yours  things  which,  in  and  of  themselves,  are 
nothing  except  romantic  episodes,  assume  the  character  of 
moral  conflicts  in  which  you  always  feel  that  you  are  the 
guilty  ones  because  you  were  the  superior  and  have  taken  a 
more  serious  view  of  certain  relations  than  they  deserved." 

"Yes,  yes!  That  is  it.  Oh,  Prince — you  understand  me 
better  than  any  one  else !"  exclaimed  the  countess,  admiringly. 

"  Yes,  and  because  I  understand  you  better  than  any  one 
else,  I  love  you  better  than  any  one  else — that  is  the  inevitable 
consequence.  Therefore  it  would  be  a  pity,  if  I  were  obliged 
to  yield  to  that  phantom — for  never  were  two  human  beings 
so  formed  for  each  other  as  we."  He  was  silent,  Madeleine 
had  not  heard  the  last  words.  In  her  swift  variations  of  mood 
reacting  with  every  changing  impression,  a  different  feeling 
had  been  evoked  by  the  word  "  phantom  "  and  the  memories 
it  awakened.  Even  the  cleverest  man  cannot  depend  upon  a 
woman.  The  phantom  again  stood  between  them — conjured 
up  by  himself. 

As  if  by  magic,  the  Kofel  with  its  glittering  cross  rose  before 
her,  and  opposite  at  her  right  hand  the  glimmering  sunbeams 
stole  up  the  cliff  till,  like  shining  fingers,  they  rested  on  a  face 
whose  like  she  had  never  seen — the  eyes,  dark  yet  sparkling, 
like  the  night  when  the  star  led  the  kings  to  the  child  in  the 


UNACCOUNTABLE.  "  257 

manger !     There  he  stood  again,  the  One  so  long  imagined, 
so  long  desired. 

And  her  enraptured  eyes  said :  "  Throughout  the  whole 
world  I  have  sought  you  alone."  And  his  replied :  "  And  I 
you !  "  And  was  this  to  be  a  lie — this  to  vanish  ?  It  seemed 
as  if  Heaven  had  opened  its  gates  and  suffered  her  to  look  in, 
and  was  all  this  to  be  delusion  ?  The  panorama  of  memory 
moved  farther  on,  leading  her  past  the  dwellings  of  the  high 
priest  and  apostles  in  Ammergau  to  the  moonlit  street  where 
her  ear,  listening  reverently,  caught  the  words :  This  is  where 
Christus  lives !  And  she  stood  still  with  gasping  breath,  trem- 
bling with  expectation  of  the  approach  of  God. 

Then  the  following  day — the  great  day  which  brought  the 
fulfilment  of  the  mighty  yearning  when  she  beheld  this  face 
"  from  which  the  God  so  long  sought  smiled  upon  her!"  The 
God  whom  she  had  come  to  seek,  to  confess !  What !  Could 
she  deny,  resign  this  God,  in  whose  wounds  she  had  laid  her 
fingers. 

Again  she  stood  in  timid  reverence,  with  a  glowing  heart, 
while  before  her  hovered  the  pierced,  bleeding  hand — Heaven 
and  earth  turned  upon  the  question  whether  she  dared  ven- 
ture to  press  her  lips  upon  the  stigma ;  she  did  venture,  almost 
swooning  from  the  flood  of  her  feelings — and  lo,  in  the  kiss 
the  quivering  lips  felt  the  throbbing  of  the  warm  awakening 
life  in  the  hand  of  the  stern  "  God,"  and  a  feeling  of  exulta- 
tion stirred  within  her.  "  You  belong  to  me !  I  will  steal  you 
from  the  whole  human  race."  And  now,  scarcely  nine  years 
later — must  the  joy  vanish,  the  God  disappear,  the  faith  die  ? 
What  a  miserable,  variable  creature  is  man ! 

"  Dinner  is  served,  and  Baron  St.  Gencis  has  called — shall 
I  prepare  another  place  ?  " 

The  countess  started  from  her  reverie — had  she  been  asleep 
where  she  stood  ?  Where  was  she  ? 

The  lackey  was  obliged  to  repeat  the  announcement  and 
the  question.  A  visitor  now  ?  She  would  rather  die — yet 
Baron  St.  Ge"nois  was  an  intimate  friend,  he  could  come  to 
dinner  whenever  he  pleased — he  was  not  to  be  sent  away. 

She  nodded  assent  to  the  servant.  Her  emotions  were 
repressed  and  scattered,  her  throbbing  heart  sank  feebly  back 

17 


258  ON   THE   CROSS. 

to  its  usual  pulsation — pallid  despair  whispered  :  "  Give  up 
the  struggle — you  cannot  be  saved  !  " 

A  few  minutes  after  the  little  party  were  celebrating  in  the 
brilliantly  lighted  dining-room  in  sparkling  sack  the  "  event 
of  the  day,"  the  appointment  of  the  new  mistress  of  cere- 
monies. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


FALLING    STARS. 

"THE  new  mistress  of  ceremonies  isn't  popular." 

"  Countess  Wildenau  is  said  to  have  fallen  into  disgrace 
already ;  she  did  not  ride  in  the  queen's  carriage  at  the  recent 
great  parade. " 

"  That  is  perfectly  natural.  It  was  to  be  expected,  when  a 
lady  so  unaccustomed  to  put  any  constraint  upon  herself  as 
Countess  Wildenau  was  appointed  to  such  a  position." 

"  She  is  said  to  make  constant  blunders.  If  she  chooses, 
she  keeps  the  queen  and  the  whole  court  waiting.  She  is 
reported  to  have  arrived  at  court  fifteen  minutes  too  late  a 
short  time  ago." 

"  And  to  have  forgotten  to  present  a  number  of  ladies." 

"  People  are  indignant  with  her." 

"  Poor  woman,  she  takes  infinite  trouble,  but  the  place  is 
not  a  suitable  one  for  her — she  is  absent-minded  and  makes 
mistakes,  which  are  unpardonable  in  a  mistress  of  ceremonies." 

"Yes,  if  the  queen's  cousin,  the  Hereditary  Prince  of 
Metten-Barnheim  did  not  uphold  her,  the  queen  would  have 
dropped  her  long  ago.  She  is  seen  at  court  only  when  she  is 
acting  as  representative.  She  has  not  succeeded  in  establish- 
ing personal  relations  with  Her  Majesty." 

Such,  at  the  end  of  a  few  months,  were  the  opinions  of 
society,  and  they  were  just. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  curse  of  those  whom  she  had 
deserted,  rested  upon  her — do  what  she  would,  she  had  no 
success  in  this  position. 

As  on  the  mountain  peak  towering  into  the  upper  air, 
every  warm  current  condenses  into  a  cloud,  so  in  the  cool, 
transparent  atmosphere  of  very  lofty  and  conspicuous  positions 


FALLING   STARS.  .259 

the  faintest  breath  of  secret  struggles  and  passions  seems  to 
condense  into  masses  of  clouds  which  often  gather  darkly 
around  the  most  brilliant  personalities,  veiling  their  traits. 
The  passionate,  romantic  impulse,  which  was  constantly  at 
war  with  the  aristocratic  birth  and  education  of  the  countess, 
was  one  of  those  currents  which  unconsciously  and  involun- 
tarily must  enter  as  an  alien  element  in  the  crystalline  clear- 
ness of  these  peaks  of  society. 

This  was  the  explanation  of  the  mystery  that  the  countess, 
greatly  admired  in  private  life  and  always  a  welcome  guest  at 
court,  could  not  fill  an  official  position  successfully.  The 
slight  cloud  which,  in  her  private  life,  only  served  to  surround 
her  with  a  halo  of  romance  which  rendered  the  free  indepen- 
dent woman  of  rank  doubly  interesting,  was  absolutely  unen- 
durable in  a  lady  of  the  court  representing  her  sovereign ! 
There  everything  must  be  clear,  calm,  official.  The  imper- 
sonal element  of  royalty,  as  it  exists  in  our  day,  especially  in 
the  women  of  reigning  houses,  will  not  permit  any  individu- 
ality to  make  itself  prominent  near  the  throne.  All  passionate 
emotions  and  peculiarities  are  abhorrent,  because,  even  in  in- 
dividuals, they  are  emanations  of  the  seething  popular  elements 
which  sovereigns  must  at  once  rule  and  fear. 

Countess  Wildenau's  constant  excitement,  restless  glances, 
absence  of  mind,  and  feverish  alternations  of  mood  uncon- 
sciously expressed  the  vengeance  of  the  spirit  of  the  common 
people  insulted  in  her  husband — and  the  queen,  in  her  subtle 
sensibility,  therefore  had  a  secret  timidity  and  aversion  to  the 
new  mistress  of  ceremonies  which  she  could  not  conquer. 
Thus  the  first  mists  in  the  atmosphere  near  the  throne  arose, 
the  vapors  gathered  into  clouds — but  the  clouds  were  seen  by 
the  keen-eyed  public — as  the  sun  of  royal  favor  vanished  be- 
hind them. 

It  is  far  better  never  to  have  been  prominent  than  to  be 
forced  to  retire.  The  countess  was  a  great  lady,  whose  power 
seemed  immovable  and  unassailable,  so  long  as  she  lived  inde- 
pendently— now  it  was  seen  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  a 
downfall !  And  now  there  was  no  occasion  for  further  consid- 
eration of  the  woman  hitherto  so  much  envied.  Vengeance 
could  fearlessly  be  taken  upon  her  for  always  having  hand- 
somer toilettes,  giving  better  dinners,  attracting  more  admir- 


260  ON    THE    CROSS. 

ers — and  being  allowed  to  do  unpunished  what  would  be 
unpardonable  in  others. 

"A  woman  who  is  continually  occupied  with  herself  cannot 
be  mistress  of  ceremonies,  I  see  that  clearly,"  she  said  one 
day  to  the  prince.  "  If  any  position  requires  self-denial,  it  is 
this.  And  self  denial  has  never  been  my  forte.  I  ought  to 
have  known  that  before  accepting  the  place.  People  imagine 
that  the  court  would  be  the  very  field  where  the  seeds  of 
egotism  would  flourish  most  abundantly  !  It  is  not  true;  who- 
ever wishes  to  reap  for  himself  should  remain  aloof,  only  the 
utmost  unselfishness,  the  most  rigid  fulfilment  of  duty  can 
exist  there.  But  I,  Prince,  am  a  spoiled,  ill-trained  creature, 
who  learned  nothing  during  the  few  years  of  my  unhappy 
marriage  save  to  hate  constraint  and  shun  pain  !  What  is  to 
be  done  with  such  a  useless  mortal  ?  " 

"  Love  her,"  replied  Prince  Emil,  as  quietly  as  if  he  were 
speaking  of  a  game  of  chess,  "  and  see  that  she  is  placed  in  a 
position  where  she  need  not  obey,  but  merely  command. 
Natures  created  to  rule  should  not  serve !  The  pebble  is  des- 
tined to  pave  the  path  of  daily  life — the  diamond  to  sparkle. 
Who  would  upbraid  the  latter  because  it  serves  no  other  pur- 
pose ?  Its  value  lies  in  itself,  but  only  connoisseurs  know  how 
to  prize  it ! "  Thus  her  friend  always  consoled  her  and 
strengthened  her  natural  tendencies.  But  where  men  are  too 
indulgent  to  us,  destiny  is  all  the  more  severe — this  is  the 
amends  for  the  moral  sins  of  society,  the  equalization  of  the 
undeserved  privileges  of  individuals  compared  with  the  sad 
fate  of  thousands. 

Prince  Emil's  efforts  could  not  succeed  in  soothing  the 
pangs  of  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  conscience — for  he  did 
not  know  the  full  extent  of  her  guilt.  If  he  knew  all,  she 
would  lose  him,  too. 

Josepha  took  care  to  torture  the  mother's  heart  by  the  re- 
ports sent  from  Italy. 

Freyer  was  silent.  Since  that  bitter  letter,  which  he  wrote, 
she  had  heard  nothing  more  from  him.  He  had  hidden  him- 
self in  his  solitary  retreat  as  a  sick  lion  seeks  the  depths  of  its 
cave,  and  she  dared  not  go  to  him  there,  though  a  secret 
yearning  often  made  her  start  from  her  sleep  with  her  hus- 
band's name  on  her  lips,  and  tears  in  her  eyes. 


FALLING   STARS.  2&I 

In  addition  to  this  she  was  troubled  by  Herr  Wildenau, 
who  was  becoming  still  more  urgent  in  his  offers  to  purchase 
the  hunting-castle,  and  often  made  strangely  significant 
remarks,  as  though  he  was  on  the  track  of  some  discovery. 
The  child  with  the  treacherous  resemblance  was  far  away — 
but  if  this  man  was  watching — that  fact  itself  might  attract  his 
notice  because  it  dated  from  the  day  when  he  made  the  first 
allusions.  She  lay  awake  many  nights  pondering  over  this 
mystery,  but  could  not  discover  what  had  given  him  the  clew 
to  her  secret.  She  did  not  suspect  that  it  was  the  child  him- 
self who,  in  an  unwatched  moment,  had  met  the  curious 
stranger  and  made  fatal  answers  to  his  cunning  questions,  tell- 
ing him  of  "  the  beautiful  lady  who  came  to  see  '  Goth '  who 
had  been  God — in  Ammergau !  And  that  he  loved  the  beau- 
tiful lady  dearly — much  better  than  Mother  Josepha !  " 

Question  and  answer  were  easy,  but  the  inference  was 
equally  so.  It  was  evident  to  the  inquisitor  that  a  relation 
existed  here  quite  compromising  enough  to  serve  as  a  handle 
against  the  countess,  if  the  exact  connection  could  be  discov- 
ered. Cousin  Wildenau  and  his  brother  resolved  from  that 
day  forth  to  watch  the  countess'  mysterious  actions  sharply — 
this  was  the  latest  and  most  interesting  sport  of  the  disinherited 
branch  of  the  Wildenau  family. 

But  the  game  they  were  pursuing  had  a  powerful  protector 
in  the  prince,  they  must  work  slowly  and  cautiously. 

At  court  also  it  was  his  influence  which  sustained  her. 
The  queen,  out  of  consideration  for  him,  showed  the  utmost 
patience  in  dealing  with  the  countess  spite  of  her  total  absence 
of  sympathy  with  her.  Thus  the  unfortunate  woman  lived  in 
constant  uncertainty.  Her  soul  was  filled  with  bitterness  by 
the  experiences  she  now  endured.  She  felt  like  dagger 
thrusts  the  malevolence,  the  contempt  with  which  she  had 
been  treated  since  the  sun  of  royal  favor  had  grown  dim.  She 
lost  her  self-command,  and  no  longer  knew  what  she  was 
doing.  Her  pride  rebelled.  A  Wildenau,  a  Princess  von 
Prankenberg,  need  not  tolerate  such  treatment!  Her  usual 
graciousness  deserted  her  and,  in  its  place,  she  assumed  a 
cold,  haughty  scorn,  which  she  even  displayed  while  perform- 
ing the  duties  of  her  office,  and  thereby  still  more  incensed 
every  one  against  her.  Persons,  whom  she  ought  to  have 


262  ON   THE   CROSS. 

honored  she  ignored.  Gradations  of  rank  and  lists  of  noble 
families,  the  alpha  and  omega  of  a  mistress  of  ceremonies,  were 
never  in  her  mind.  People  entitled  to  the  first  position  were 
relegated  to  the  third,  and  similar  blunders  were  numerous. 
Complaints  and  annoyances  of  all  kinds  poured  in,  and  at  a 
state  dinner  in  honor  of  the  visit  of  a  royal  prince,  she  was 
compelled  to  endure,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  court,  a  re- 
buke from  the  queen  who  specially  distinguished  a  person 
whom  she  had  slighted. 

This  dinner  became  fateful  to  her.  Wherever  she  turned, 
she  beheld  triumphant  or  sarcastic  smiles — wherever  she  ap- 
proached a  group,  conversation  ceased  with  the  marked  sud- 
denness which  does  not  seek  to  conceal  that  the  new-comer 
has  been  the  subject  of  the  talk.  Nay,  she  often  encountered 
a  glance  which  seemed  to  say :  "  Why  do  you  still  linger 
among  us  ?  " 

It  happened  also  that  the  prince  had  been  summoned  to 
Cannes  by  his  father's  illness  and  was  not  at  hand  to  protect 
her.  She  had  hoped  that  he  would  return  in  time  for  the 
dinner,  but  he  did  not  come.  She  was  entirely  deserted.  A 
few  compassionate  souls,  like  the  kind-hearted  duchess  whom 
she  met  at  the  Passion  Play,  her  ladies-in-waiting,  and  some 
maids  of  honor,  joined  her,  but  she  felt  in  their  graciousness  a 
pity  which  humbled  her  more  than  all  the  insults.  And  her 
friends !  The  gentlemen  who  belonged  to  the  circle  of  her 
intimate  acquaintances  had  for  some  time  adopted  a  more 
familiar  tone,  as  if  to  imply  that  she  must  accept  whatever 
they  choose  to  offer.  She  was  no  longer  even  beautiful — a 
pallid,  grief-worn  face,  with  hollow  eyes  gazing  hopelessly  into 
vacancy,  found  no  admirers  in  this  circle.  And  as  every  look, 
every  countenance  wore  a  hostile  expression,  her  own  image 
gazed  reproachfully  at  her  from  the  mirror,  the  dazzling  fair 
neck  with  its  marvellous  contours,  supported  a  head  whose 
countenance  was  weary  and  prematurely  aged.  "  It  is  all  over 
with  you!"  cried  the  mirror!  "It  is  all  over  with  you!" 
smiled  the  lips  of  society.  "  It  is  all  over  with  you,  you  may 
be  glad  if  we  still  come  to  your  dinners ! "  the  wine-scented 
breath  of  her  former  intimate  friends  insultingly  near  her 
seemed  to  whisper. 

Was  this  the  world,  to  which  she  had  sacrificed  her  heart 


FALLING   STARS.  263 

and  conscience  ?  Was  this  the  honor  for  which  she  hourly 
suffered  tortures.  And  on  the  wintry  mountain  height  the 
husband  who  had  naught  on  earth  save  the  paltry  scrap  of 
love  she  bestowed,  was  perishing — she  had  avoided  him  for 
months  because  to  her  he  represented  that  uncomfortable 
Christianity  whose  asceticism  has  survived  the  civilization  of 
thousands  of  years.  Yes !  This  Christianity  of  the  Nazarene  who 
walked  the  earth  so  humbly  in  a  laborer's  garb  is  the  friend  of 
the  despised  and  humbled.  It  asks  no  questions  about  crowns 
and  the  favor  of  courts,  human  power  and  distinction.  And 
she  who  had  trembled  and  sinned  for  the  wretched  illusions, 
the  glitter  of  the  honors  of  this  brief  life — was  she  to  despise  a 
morality  which,  in  its  beggar's  garb,  stands  high  above  all  for 
which  the  greatest  and  most  powerful  tremble  ?  Again  the 
symbol  of  the  renewed  bond  between  God  and  the  world — 
the  cross — rose  before  her,  and  on  it  hung  the  body  of  the 
Redeemer,  radiant  in  its  chaste,  divine  beauty — that  body 
which  for  her  descended  from  the  cross  where  it  hung  for  the 
whole  world  and,  after  clasping  it  in  her  arms,  she  repined  be- 
cause it  was  only  the  image  of  what  no  earthly  desire  will  ever 
attain,  no  matter  how  many  human  hearts  glow  with  the  flames 
of  love  so  long  as  the  world  endures. 

"  My  Christus — my  sacrificed  husband !  "  cried  a  voice  in 
her  heart  so  loudly  that  she  did  not  hear  a  question  from  the 
queen.  "  It  is  incredible !  "  some  one  exclaimed  angrily  near 
her.  She  started  from  her  reverie.  "  Your  Majesty  ?  "  The 
queen  had  already  passed  on,  without  waiting  for  a  reply — 
whispers  and  nods  ran  through  the  circle,  every  eye  was  fixed 
upon  her.  What  had  the  queen  wanted  ?  She  tried  to  hurry 
after  her.  Her  Majesty  had  disappeared,  she  was  already 
going  through  the  next  hall — but  the  distance  was  so  great — 
she  could  not  reach  her,  the  space  seemed  to  increase  as  she 
moved  on.  She  felt  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting  and 
dragged  herself  into  a  secluded  room. 

The  members  of  the  court  were  retiring.  Confusion  arose 
— the  mistress  of  ceremonies  was  absent  just  at  the  moment 
of  the  Conge!  No  one  had  time  to  seek  her.  All  were  as- 
sembling to  take  leave,  and  then  hurrying  after  servants  and 
wraps.  Carriage  after  carriage  rolled  away,  the  rooms  were 
empty,  the  lackeys  came  to  extinguish  the  lights.  The 


264  ON    THE    CROSS. 

countess  lay  on  a  sofa,  alone  and  deserted  in  the  last  hall  of 
the  suite. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  is  your  Highness  ill  ?"  cried  an  old 
major-domo,  offering  his  assistance  to  the  lady,  who  slowly 
rose.  "  Is  it  all  over  ?"  she  asked,  gazing  vacantly  around. 
"  Where  is  my  servant  ?" 

"  He  is  still  waiting  outside  for  Your  Highness,"  replied 
the  old  gentleman,  trying  to  assist  her.  "  Shall  I  call  a  doctor 
or  a  maid  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  am  well  again.  It  was  only  an  attack 
of  giddiness,"  said  the  countess,  walking  slowly  out  of  the 
palace. 

"  Who  is  driving  to-night  ?"  she  asked  the  footman,  as  he 
put  her  fur  cloak  over  her  bare  shoulders. 

"  Martin,  Your  Highness." 

"  Very  well,  then  go  home  and  say  that  I  shall  not  come, 
but  visit  the  estates." 

"  It  is  bitterly  cold,  Your  Highness  !"  observed  the  major 
domo,  who  had  attended  her  to  the  equipage. 

"  That  does  not  matter — is  the  beaver  robe  in  the  carriage  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Your  Highness !" 

"  What  time  is  it  ?     Late  ?" 

"  Oh  no;  just  nine,  Your  Highness." 

"  Forward,  then !" 

Martin  knew  where. 

The  major-domo  closed  the  door  and  away  dashed  the 
horses  into  the  glittering  winter  night  along  the  familiar,  but 
long  neglected  road.  It  was  indeed  a  cold  drive.  The  ground 
was  frozen  hard  and  the  carriage  windows  were  covered  with 
frost  flowers.  The  countess'  temples  were  throbbing  violently, 
her  heart  beat  eagerly  with  longing  for  the  husband  whom  she 
had  deserted  for  this  base  world !  The  mood  of  that  Am- 
mergau  epoch  again  asserted  its  rights,  and  she  penitently 
hastened  to  seek  the  beautiful  gift  she  had  so  thoughtlessly 
cast  aside.  With  a  heart  full  of  rancor  over  the  injustice  and 
lovelessness  experienced  in  society,  her  soul  plunged  deeply 
into  the  sweet  chalice  of  the  love  and  poesy  of  those  days — a 
love  which  was  religion — a  religion  which  was  love.  "  Though 
I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  and  have  not 
charity,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass  or  a  tinkling  cymbal!" 


FALLING    STARS.  265 

Aye,  for  sounding  brass  and  a  tinkling  cymbal  she  had  squan- 
dered warm  heart's  blood,  and  the  sorrowing  soul  of  the  peo- 
ple from  whose  sacred  simplicity  her  wearied  soul  was  to  have 
drawn  fresh  youth,  gazed  tearfully  at  her  from  the  eyes  of  her 
distant  son. 

The  horses  went  so  slowly  to-night,  she  thought — no  pace 
is  swift  enough  for  a  repentant  heart  which  longs  to  atone  ! 

He  would  be  angry,  she  would  have  a  bitter  struggle  with 
him — but  she  would  soften  his  wrath — she  would  put  forth  all 
her  charms,  she  would  be  loving  and  beautiful,  fairer  than  he 
had  ever  seen  her,  for  she  had  never  appeared  before  him  in 
full  dress,  with  diamonds  sparkling  on  her  snowy  neck,  and 
heavy  gold  bracelets  clasping  her  wonderful  arms. 

She  would  tell  him  that  she  repented,  that  everything 
should  be  as  of  yore  when  she  plighted  her  troth  to  him  by 
the  glare  of  the  bridal  torches  of  the  forest  conflagration  and, 
feeling  Valkyrie  might  in  her  veins,  dreamed  Valkyrie  dreams. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  compared  the  pallid  court 
lady  of  the  present,  who  fainted  at  a  proof  of  disfavor  and  a 
few  spiteful  glances,  with  the  Valkyrie  of  those  days !  Was  it 
a  mere  delusion  which  made  her  so  strong  ?  No — even  if  the 
God  whom  she  saw  in  him  was  a  delusion,  the  love  which 
swelled  in  her  veins  with  that  might  which  defied  the  elements 
was  divine  and,  by  every  standard  of  philosophy,  asthetics, 
and  birth,  as  well  as  morality,  had  a  right  to  its  existence. 

Then  why  had  she  been  ashamed  of  it  ?  On  account  of 
trivial  prejudices,  petty  vanities  :  in  other  words,  weakness! 

Not  Freyer,  but  she  was  too  petty  for  this  great  love ! 
"  Yet  wait — wait,  my  forsaken  husband.  Your  wife  is  com- 
ing to-day  with  a  love  that  is  worthy  of  you,  ardent  enough  to 
atone  in  a  single  hour  for  the  neglect  of  years." 

She  breathed  upon  the  frost-coated  pane,  melting  an  open- 
ing in  the  crust  of  ice.  The  castle  already  stood  before  her, 
the  height  was  almost  reached.  Then — a  sudden  jolt — a  cry 
from  the  coachman,  and  the  carriage  toppled  toward  the 
precipice.  With  ready  nerve  the  countess  sprang  out  on  the 
opposite  side. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  the  horses  shied  at  sight  of  Herr  Freyer !"  said  the 
coachman,  as  Freyer,  with  an  iron  hand,  curbed  the  rearing 


266  ON    THE    CROSS. 

animals.  The  countess  hastened  toward  him.  Aided  by  the 
coachman,  he  quieted  the  trembling  creatures. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Your  Highness,"  said  Freyer,  still 
panting  from  the  exertion  he  had  made.  "  I  came  out  of  the 
wood  unexpectedly,  and  the  dark  figure  frightened  them. 
Fortunately  I  could  seize  their  reins." 

"  Drive  on,  Martin,"  the  countess  ordered,  "  I  will  walk 
with  Heir  Freyer."  The  coachman  obeyed.  She  put  her 
hand  through  Freyer's  arm.  "  No  wonder  that  the  horses 
shied,  my  husband,  you  look  so  strange.  What  were  you 
doing  in  the  woods  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ?" 

"  What  I  always  do — wandering  about." 

"That  is  not  right,  you  ought  to  sleep." 

"  Sleep  ?"  Freyer  repeated  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"Is  this  my  reception,  Joseph  ?" 

"  Pardon  me — it  makes  me  laugh  when  you  talk  of  sleep- 
ing !  Look  " — he  raised  his  hat :  "  Even  in  the  starlight  you 
can  see  the  white  hairs  which  have  come  since  you  were  last 
here,  sent  my  child  away,  and  made  me  wholly  a  hermit.  No 
sleep  has  come  to  my  eyes  and  my  hair  has  grown  grey." 

The  countess  perceived  with  horror  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  him.  Threads  of  silver  mingled  with  his  black 
locks,  his  eyes  were  sunken,  his  whole  figure  was  emaciated, 
his  chest  narrowed — he  was  a  sick  man.  She  could  not 
endure  the  sight — it  was  the  most  terrible  reproach  to  her;  she 
fixed  her  eyes  on  the  ground :  "  I  had  made  such  a  lovely 
plan — Martin  has  the  key  of  the  outside  door — I  was  going  to 
steal  gently  to  the  side  of  your  couch  and  kiss  your  sleeping 
lips." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  kind  intention.  But  do  you  imagine 
that  I  could  have  slept  after  receiving  that  letter  which 
brought  me  the  news  that  I  was  betrayed — betrayed  once 
more  and,  after  all  the  sacred  promises  made  during  your  last 
visit,  you  had  done  exactly  the  opposite  and  accepted  a  posi- 
tion which  separated  you  still  farther  from  your  husband  and 
child,  bound  you  still  more  firmly  to  the  world  ?  Do  you 
imagine  that  the  days  are  enough  to  ponder  over  such 
thoughts  ?  No,  one  must  call  in  the  nights  to  aid.  You 
know  that  well,  and  I  should  be  far  better  satisfied  if  you 
would  say  honestly  :  '  I  know  that  I  am  killing  you,  that  your 


FALLING   STARS.  267 

strength  is  being  consumed  with  sorrow,  but  I  have  no  wish 
to  change  this  state  of  affairs !'  instead  of  feigning  that  you 
cannot  understand  why  I  should  not  sleep  quietly  and  won- 
dering that  I  wander  all  night  in  the  forest  ?  But  fear  noth- 
ing, I  am  perfectly  calm — I  shall  reproach  you  no  farther," 
he  added  in  a  milder  tone,  "  for  I  have  closed  accounts  with 
myself — with  you — with  life.  Do  not  weep,  I  promised  that 
when  you  sought  your  husband  you  should  find  him — I  will 
not  be  false  to  my  pledge.  Come,  lay  your  little  head  upon 
my  breast — you  are  trembling,  are  you  cold  ?  Lean  on  me, 
and  let  us  walk  faster  that  I  may  shelter  you  in  the  warm 
room.  Wandering  dove — how  did  you  happen  suddenly  to 
return  to  your  husband's  lonely  nest  in  the  cold  night,  in  this 
bitter  winter  season  ?  Why  did  not  you  stay  in  the  warm 
cote  with  the  others,  where  you  had  everything  that  you  de- 
sire ?  Do  you  miss  anything  ?  Tell  me,  what  do  you  seek 
with  me,  for  what  does  your  little  heart  long  ?"  His  voice 
again  sank  to  the  enthralling  whisper  which  had  formerly 
made  all  her  pulses  throb  with  a  sensation  of  indescribable  bliss. 
His  great  heart  took  all  its  pains  and  suffering  and  ceased  to 
judge  her.  The  faithless  dove  found  the  nest  open,  and  his 
gentle  hand  scattered  for  her  the  crumbs  of  his  lost  happiness, 
as  the  starving  man  divides  his  last  crust  with  those  who  are 
poorer  still. 

She  could  not  speak — overpowered  by  emotion  she  leaned 
against  him,  allowing  herself  to  be  carried  rather  than  led  up 
the  steep  ascent.  But  she  could  not  wait,  even  as  they  moved 
her  lips  sought  his,  her  little  hands  clasped  his,  and  a  murmur 
tremulous  with  emotion :  "  This  is  what  I  missed !" — an- 
swered the  sweet  question.  The  stars  above  sparkled  with  a 
thousand  rays — the  whole  silent,  glittering,  icy  winter  night 
rejoiced. 

At  last  the  castle  was  reached  and  the  "  warm  "  room  re- 
ceived them.  It  did  not  exactly  deserve  the  name,  for  the 
fire  in  the  stove  had  gone  out,  but  neither  felt  it — the  glow  in 
their  hearts  sufficed. 

"  You  must  take  what  I  can  offer — I  am  all  alone,  you 
know." 

"  All  alone  /"  she  repeated  with  a  happy  smile  which  he 


a68  ON  THE  CROSS. 

could  see  by  the  starlight  shining  through  the  open  window. 
Another  kiss — a  long  silent  embrace  was  exchanged. 

"  Now  let  me  light  a  lamp,  that  I  may  take  off  your  cloak 
and  make  you  comfortable !  Or,  do  you  mean  to  spend  the 
night  so  ?"  He  was  bewitching  in  his  mournful  jesting,  his 
sad  happiness. 

"  Ah,  it  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  you  thus,"  Madeleine 
murmured.  "  World,  I  can  laugh  at  you  now  !"  cried  an  ex- 
ultant voice  in  her  heart,  for  the  old  love,  the  old  spell  was 
hers  once  more.  And  as  he  again  appeared  before  her  in  his 
mild  greatness  and  beauty,  she  desired  to  show  herself  his 
peer — display  herself  to  him  in  all  the  dazzling  radiance  of 
her  beauty.  As  he  turned  to  light  the  lamp  she  let  the  heavy 
cloak  fall  and  stood  in  all  her  loveliness,  her  snowy  neck 
framed  by  the  dark  velvet  bodice,  on  which  all  the  stars  in 
the  firmament  outside  seemed  to  have  fallen  and  clung  to  rest 
there  for  a  moment. 

Freyer  turned  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand — his  eyes  flashed 
— a  faint  cry  escaped  his  lips  !  She  waited  smiling  for  an  ex- 
pression of  delight — but  he  remained  motionless,  gazing  at  her 
as  if  he  beheld  a  ghost,  while  the  glance  fixed  upon  the  figure 
whose  diamonds  sparkled  with  a  myriad  rays  constantly  grew 
more  gloomy,  his  bearing  more  rigid — a  deep  flush  suffused 
his  pallid  face.  "  And  this  is  my  wife  ?"  at  last  fell  in  a 
muffled,  expressionless  tone  from  his  lips.  "  No — it  is  not 
she." 

The  countess  did  not  understand  his  meaning — she  im- 
agined that  the  superb  costume  so  impressed  him  that  he  dared 
not  approach  her,  and  she  must  show  him  by  redoubled  ten- 
derness that  he  was  not  too  lowly  for  this  superb  woman.  "  It 
is  your  wife,  indeed  it  is,  and  all  this  splendor  veils  a  heart 
which  is  yours,  and  yours  alone !"  she  cried,  throwing  herself 
on  his  breast  and  clasping  her  white  arms  around  him. 

But  with  a  violent  gesture  he  released  himself,  drawing 
back  a  step.  "  No — no — 1  cannot,  I  will  not  touch  you  in 
such  a  guise  as  this." 

"  Freyer !"  the  countess  angrily  exclaimed,  gazing  at  him 
as  if  to  detect  some  trace  of  insanity  in  his  features.  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?" 


FALLING   STARS.  369 

"  Have  you — been  in  society — in  that  dress  ?"  he  asked  in 
a  low  tone,  as  if  ashamed  for  her. 

"  Yes.  And  in  my  impatience  to  hasten  to  you  I  did  not 
stop  to  change  it.  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased." 

Freyer  again  burst  into  the  bitter  laugh  from  which  she 
always  shrank.  "  Pleased,  when  I  see  that  you  show  yourself 
to  others  so — " 

"  How  ?"  she  asked,  still  failing  to  understand  him. 

"  So  naked !"  he  burst  forth,  unable  to  control  himself 
longer.  "  You  have  uncovered  your  beauty  thus  before  the 
eyes  of  the  gentlemen  of  your  world  ?  And  this  is  my  wife — 
a  creature  so  destitute  of  all  shame  ?" 

"  Freyer !"  shrieked  the  countess,  tottering  backward  with 
her  hand  pressed  upon  her  brow  as  if  she  had  just  received  a 
blow  on  the  head :  "  This  to  me — to-day  /" 

"  To-day  or  to-morrow.  On  any  day  when  you  display 
the  beauty  at  which  I  scarcely  dare  to  glance,  to  the  profane 
eyes  of  a  motley  throng  of  strangers,  who  gaze  with  the  same 
satisfaction  at  the  booths  of  a  fair — on  any  day  when  you  ex- 
pose to  greedy  looks  the  bosom  which  conceals  the  heart  that 
should  be  mine — on  any  such  day  you  are  unworthy  the  love 
of  any  honest  man." 

A  low  cry  of  indignation  answered  him,  then  all  was  still. 
At  last  Madeleine  von  Wildenau's  lips  murmured  with  a  vio- 
lent effort :  "  This  is  the  last !" 

Freyer  was  striving  to  calm  himself.  He  pressed  his  burn- 
ing brow  against  the  frosty  window-panes  with  their  glittering 
tangle  of  crystal  flowers  and  stars.  The  sparkling  firmament 
above  gazed  down  in  its  eternal  clearness  upon  the  poor  earth- 
ling,  who  in  his  childlike  way  was  offering  a  sacrifice  to  the 
chaste  God,  whose. cold  home  it  was. 

"  Whenever  I  come — there  is  always  some  new  torture  for 
me — but  you  have  never  so  insulted  and  outraged  me  as  to- 
day," said  the  countess  slowly,  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  weighing 
every  word.  Her  manner  was  terribly  calm  and  cold. 

"  I  understand  that  it  may  be  strange  to  you  to  see  a  lady 
in  full  dress — you  have  never  moved  in  a  circle  where  this  is 
a  matter  of  course  and  no  one  thinks  of  it.  To  the  pure  all 
things  are  pure,  and  he  who  is  not  stands  with  us  under  the 
law  of  the  etiquette  of  our  society.  Our  village  lasses  must 


270  ON   THE   CROSS. 

muffle  themselves  to  the  throat,  for  what  could  protect  them 
from  the  coarse  jests  and  rudeness  of  the  village  lads?" 

Freyer  winced,  he  felt  the  lash. 

"To  add  to  the  splendor  of  festal  garments,"  she  went  on, 
"  a  little  of  the  natural  beauty  of  the  divinely  created  human 
body  is  a  tribute  which  even  the  purest  woman  can  afford  the 
eye,  and  whatever  is  kept  within  the  limits  of  the  artistic  sense 
can  never  be  shameless  or  unseemly.  Woe  betide  any  one 
who  passes  these  bounds  and  sees  evil  in  it — he  erases  himself 
from  the  ranks  of  cultured  people.  So  much,  and  no  more, 
you  are  still  worthy  that  I  should  say  in  my  own  justifica- 
tion!" 

She  turned  and  took  up  the  cloak  to  wrap  herself  in  it : 
"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  have  the  horses  harnessed  ?" 

"Are  you  going?"  asked  Freyer,  who  meanwhile  had  re- 
gained his  self-control. 

"  Yes." 

"  Alas,  what  have  I  done !"  he  said,  wringing  his  hands. 
"  I  have  not  even  asked  you  to  sit  down,  have  not  let  you 
rest,  have  offended  and  wounded  you.  Oh,  I  am  a  savage,  a 
wretched  man." 

"You  are  what  you  can  be!"  she  replied  with  the  cutting 
coldness  into  which  a  proud  woman's  slighted  love  is  quickly 
transformed. 

"  What  such  an  uncultivated  person  can  be !  That  is 
what  you  wish  to  say !"  replied  Freyer.  "  But  there  lies  my 
excuse.  Aye,  I  am  a  native  of  the  country,  accustomed  to 
break  my  fruit,  wet  with  the  morning-dew,  from  the  tree  ere 
any  hand  has  touched  it,  or  pluck  from  the  thorny  boughs  in 
the  dewy  thicket  the  hidden  berries  which  no  human  eye  has 
beheld; — I  cannot  understand  how  people  can  enjoy  fruits 
that  have  been  uncovered  for  hours  in  the  dust  of  the  market- 
place. The  aroma  is  gone — the  freshness  and  bloom  have 
Vanished,  and  if  given  me — no  matter  how  costly  it  might  be, 
I  should  not  care  for  it — the  wild  berries  in  the  wood  which 
smiled  at  me  from  the  leafy  dusk  with  their  glittering  dew- 
drops,  would  please  me  a  thousand  times  better !  This  is  not 
meant  for  a  comparison,  only  an  instance  of  how  people  feel 
when  they  live  in  the  country !" 

"  And  to  carry  your  simile  further — if  you  believe  that  the 


FALLING    STARS.  2}  I 

fruit  so  greatly  desired  has  been  kept  for  you  alone — will  it 
not  please  you  to  possess  what  others  long  for  in  vain  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said  simply,  "  I  am  not  envious  enough  to  wish 
to  deprive  others  of  anything  they  covet — but  I  will  not  share, 
so  I  would  rather  resign !" 

"  Well,  then — I  have  nothing  more  to  say  on  that  point — 
let  us  close  the  conversation." 

Both  were  silent  a  long  time,  as  if  exhausted  by  some  great 
exertion. 

"  How  is  our — the  child  ?  Have  you  any  news  from  Jo- 
sepha  ?"  the  countess  asked  at  last. 

"  Yes,  but  unfortunately  nothing  good." 

"  As  usual !"  she  answered,  hastily ;  "  it  is  her  principle 
to  make  us  anxious.  Such  people  take  advantage  of  every 
opportunity  to  let  us  feel  their  power.  I  know  that." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  I  must  defend  my  cousin.  She  was 
always  honest,  though  blunt  and  impulsive,"  answered  Freyer. 
"  I  fear  she  is  writing  the  truth,  and  the  boy  is  really  worse." 

"  Go  there  then,  if  you  are  anxious,  and  send  me  word 
how  you  find  him." 

"  I  will  not  travel  at  your  expense — except  in  your  service, 
and  my  own  means  are  not  enough,"  replied  Freyer  in  a  cold, 
stern  tone. 

"  Very  well,  this  is  in  my  service.  So — obey  and  go  at 
my  expense !" 

Freyer  gazed  at  her  long  and  earnestly.  "As  your 
steward  ?"  he  asked  in  a  peculiar  tone. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  truthful  report — not  a  biassed 
one,  as  is  Josepha's  custom,"  she  replied  evasively.  "  There 
is  nothing  to  be  done  on  the  estates  now — I  beg  the  '  steward ' 
to  represent  my  interests  in  this  matter.  If  you  find  the  child 
really  worse,  I  will  get  a  leave  of  absence  and  go  to  him." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  do  as  you  order." 

"  But  have  the  horses  harnessed  now,  or  it  will  be  morn- 
ing before  I  return." 

"  Will  it  not  be  too  fatiguing  for  you  to  return  to-night  ? 
Shall  I  not  wake  the  house-maid  to  prepare  your  room  and 
wait  on  you  !" 

"  No,  I  thank  you." 

"  As  you  choose,"  he  said,  quietly   going   to   order  the 


272  ON    THE    CROSS. 

horses,  which  had  hardly  been  taken  from  the  carriage,  to  be 
harnessed  again.  The  coachman  remonstrated,  saying  that 
the  animals  had  not  had  time  to  rest,  but  Freyer  replied  that 
there  must  be  no  opposition  to  the  countess'  will. 

The  half-hour  which  the  coachman  required  was  spent  by 
the  husband  and  wife  in  separate  rooms.  Freyer  was  arrang- 
ing on  his  desk  a  file  of  papers  relating  to  his  business  as 
steward ;  bills  and  documents  for  the  countess  to  look  over. 
He  worked  as  quietly  as  if  all  emotion  was  dead  within  him. 
The  countess  sat  alone  in  the  dimly-lighted,  comfortless  sitting 
room,  gazing  at  the  spot  where  her  son's  bed  used  to  stand. 
Her  blood  was  seething  with  shame  and  wrath ;  yet  the  sight 
of  the  empty  wall  where  the  boy  no  longer  held  out  his  arms 
to  her  from  the  little  couch,  was  strangely  sad — as  if  he  were 
dead,  and  his  corpse  had  already  been  borne  out.  Her  heart 
was  filled  with  grief,  too  bitter  to  find  relief  in  tears,  they  are 
frozen  at  such  a  moment.  She  would  fain  have  called  his 
name  amid  loud  sobs,  but  something  seemed  to  stand  beside 
her,  closing  her  lips  and  clutching  her  heart  with  an  iron  hand, 
the  vengeance  of  the  sorely  insulted  woman.  Then  she  fan- 
cied she  saw  the  child  fluttering  toward  her  in  his  little  white 
shirt.  At  the  same  moment  a  door  burst  open,  a  draught  of 
air  swept  through  the  room,  making  her  start  violently — and 
at  the  same  moment  a  star  shot  from  the  sky,  so  close  at 
hand,  that  it  appeared  as  if  it  must  dart  through  the  panes  and 
join  its  glittering  fellows  on  the  countess'  breast. 

What  was  that  ?  A  gust  of  wind  so  sudden,  that  it  swept 
through  the  closed  rooms,  burst  doors  open,  and  appeared  to 
hurl  the  stars  from  the  sky  ?  Yet  outside  all  was  still ;  only 
the  wainscoting  and  beams  of  the  room  creaked  slightly — 
popular  superstition  would  have  said  :  "  Some  death  has  been 
announced  !"  The  excited  woman  thought  of  it  with  secret 
terror.  Was  it  the  whir  of  the  spindle  from  which  one  of  the 
Fates  had  just  cut  the  thread  of  life  ?  If  it  were  the  life-thread 
of  her  child — if  at  that  very  hour-^her  blood  congealed  to 
ice !  She  longed  to  shriek  in  her  fright,  but  again  the  gloomy 
genius  of  vengeance  sealed  her  lips  and  heart.  If  it  were — 
God's  will  be  done.  Then  the  last  bond  between  her  and 
Freyer  would  be  sundered.  What  could  she  do  with  this  man's 
child  ?  Nothing  that  fettered  her  to  him  had  a  right  to  exist 


FALLING   STARS.  273 

— if  the  child  was  dead,  then  she  would  be  free,  there  would 
be  nothing  more  in  common  between  them !  He  had  slain 
her  heart  that  day,  and  she  was  slaying  the  last  feeling  which 
lived  within  it,  love  for  her  child  !  Everything  between  them 
must  be  over,  effaced  from  the  earth,  even  the  child.  Let 
God  take  it ! 

Every  passionate  woman  who  is  scorned  feels  a  touch  of 
kinship  with  Medea,  whose  avenging  steel  strikes  the  husband 
whom  it  cannot  reach  through  the  children,  whether  her  own 
heart  is  also  pierced  or  not.  Greater  far  than  the  self-denial 
of  love  is  that  of  hate,  for  it  extends  to  self-destruction  !  It 
fears  no  pain,  spares  neither  itself  nor  its  own  flesh  and  blood, 
slays  the  object  of  its  dearest  love  to  give  pain  to  others — even 
if  only  in  thought,  as  in  the  modern  realm  of  culture,  where 
everything  formerly  expressed  in  deeds  of  violence  now  acts 
in  the  sphere  of  mental  life. 

It  was  a  terrible  hour !  From  every  corner  of  the  room, 
wherever  she  gazed,  the  boy's  large  eyes  shone  upon  her 
through  the  dusk,  pleading :  "  Forgive  my  father,  and  do  not 
thrust  me  from  your  heart !"  But  in  vain,  her  wrath  was  too 
great,  her  heart  was  incapable  at  that  moment  of  feeling  any- 
thing else.  Everything  had  happened  as  it  must  ;  she  had 
entered  an  alien,  inferior  sphere,  and  abandoned  and  scorned 
her  own,  therefore  the  society  to  which  she  belonged  now  ex- 
iled her,  while  she  reaped  in  the  sphere  she  had  chosen  in- 
gratitude and  misunderstanding. 

Now,  too  late,  she  was  forced  to  realize  what  it  meant  to 
be  chained  for  life  to  an  uneducated  man  !  "  Oh,  God,  my 
punishment  is  just,"  murmured  an  angry  voice  in  her  soul,  "  in 
my  childish  defiance  I  despised  all  the  benefits  of  culture  by 
which  I  was  surrounded,  to  make  for  myself  an  idol  of  clay 
which,  animated  by  my  glowing  breath,  dealt  me  a  blow  in 
the  face  and  returned  to  its  original  element !  I  have  thrown 
myself  away  on  a  man,  to  whom  any  peasant  lass  would  be 
dearer !  Why — why,  oh  God,  hast  Thou  lured  me  with  Thy 
deceitful  mask  into  the  mire  ?  Dost  Thou  feel  at  ease  amid 
base  surroundings  ?  I  cannot  follow  Thee  there !  A  religion 
which  stands  on  so  bad  a  footing  with  man's  highest  blessings, 
culture  and  learning,  can  never  be  mine.  Is  it  divine  to  steal 
a  heart  under  the  mask  of  Christ  and  then,  as  if  in  mockery, 

18 


274  ON  THE  CROSS. 

leave  the  deceived  one  in  the  lurch,  after  she  has  been  caught 
in  the  snare  and  bound  to  a  narrow-minded,  brutal  husband  ? 
Is  this  God-like  ?  Nay,  it  is  fiendish  !  Do  not  look  at  me  so 
beseechingly,  beautiful  eyes  of  my  child,  I  no  longer  believe 
even  in  you !  Everything  which  has  hitherto  bound  me  to 
your  father  has  been  a  lie ;  you,  too,  are  an  embodied  false- 
hood. It  is  not  true  that  Countess  Wildenau  has  mingled  her 
noble  blood  with  that  of  a  low-born  man;  that  she  has  given 
birth  to  a  bastard,  wretched  creature,  which  could  be  at  home 
in  no  sphere  save  by  treachery  !  No — no,  I  cannot  have  for- 
gotten myself  so  far — it  is  but  a  dream,  a  phantasy  of  the  im- 
agination and  when  I  awake  it  will  be  on  the  morning  of  that 
August  day  in  Ammergau  after  the  Passion  Play.  Then  I 
shall  be  free,  can  wed  a  noble  man  who  is  my  peer,  and  give 
him  legitimate  heirs,  whose  mother  I  can  be  without  a  blush  !" 

What  was  that  ?  Did  her  ears  deceive  her  ?  The  hoof- 
beats  of  a  horse,  rushing  up  the  mountain  with  the  speed  of 
the  wind.  She  hurried  to  the  window.  The  clock  was  just 
striking  two.  Yes !  A  figure  like  the  wild  huntsman  was 
flitting  like  a  shadow  through  the  night  toward  the  castle. 
Now  he  turned  the  last  curve  and  reached  the  height  and  the 
countess  saw  distinctly  that  he  was  her  courier.  What  news 
was  he  bringing — what  had  happened — at  so  late  an  hour  ? 

Was  the  evil  dream  not  yet  over  ? 

What  new  blow  was  about  to  strike  her  ? 

"  What  you  desired — nothing  else  !"  said  the  demon  of 
her  life. 

The  courier  checked  his  foaming  horse  before  the  terrace. 
The  countess  tried  to  hurry  toward  him,  but  could  not  leave 
the  spot.  She  clung  shuddering  to  the  cross-bars  of  the 
window,  which  cast  its  long  black  shadow  far  outside. 

Freyer  opened  the  door;  Madeleine  heard  the  horseman 
ask  :  "  Is  the  Countess  here  ?" 

"  Yes !"  replied  Freyer. 

"  I  have  a  telegram  which  must  be  signed,  the  answer  is 
prepaid." 

Freyer  tore  off  the  envelope.  "  Take  the  horse  round  to 
the  stable,  I  will  attend  to  everything." 

He  entered  and  approached  the  door,  through  which  the 
child  had  come  to  his  mother's  aid  the  last  time  she  was  there, 


FALLING   STARS.  275 

to  protect  her  from  Josepha.  The  countess  fancied  that  the 
little  head  must  be  again  thrust  in  !  But  it  was  only  Freyer 
with  the  despatch.  The  countess  mechanically  signed  her 
name  to  the  receipt  as  if  she  feared  she  could  not  do  so  after 
having  read  the  message.  Then,  with  a  trembling  hand,  she 
opened  the  telegram,  which  contained  only  the  words  : 

"  Our  angel  has  just  died,  with  his  mother's  name  on  his 
lips.  Please  send  directions  for  the  funeral. 

JOSEPHA." 

A  cry  rang  through  the  room  like  the  breaking  of  a  chord 
— a  death-like  silence  followed.  The  countess  was  on  her 
knees,  with  her  face  bowed  on  the  table,  her  hand  clasping 
the  telegram,  crushed  before  the  God  whose  might  she  felt  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  whom  only  a  few  moments  before 
she  had  blasphemed  and  defied.  He  had  taken  her  at  her 
word,  and  her  words  had  condemned  her.  The  child,  the 
loyal  child  who  had  died  with  her  name  on  his  lips,  she  had 
wished  but  a  few  minutes  before  that  God  would  take  out  of 
the  world — she  could  betray  him  for  the  sake  of  an  aristo- 
cratic legitimate  brother,  who  never  had  existed.  She  could 
think  of  his  death  as  something  necessary,  as  her  means  of 
deliverance  ?  Now  the  child  had  released  her.  Sensitive  and 
modest,  he  had  removed  the  burden  of  his  poor  little  life, 
which  was  too  much  for  her  to  bear  and  vanished  from  the 
earth  where  he  found  no  place — but  his  last  word  was  the 
name  of  all  love,  the  name  "mother!"  He  had  not  asked 
"  have  you  fulfilled  a  mother's  duties  to  me  ?" — have  you  loved 
me  ?"  He  had  loved  nis  mother  with  that  sweet  child-love, 
which  demands  nothing — only  gives. 

And  she,  the  avaricious  mother,  had  been  niggardly  with 
her  love — till  the  child  died  of  longing.  She  had  let  it  die 
and  did  not  bestow  the  last  joy,  press  the  last  kiss  upon  the 
little  mouth,  permit  the  last  look  of  the  seeking  eyes  to  rest 
upon  the  mother's  face  ! 

Outraged  nature,  so  long  denied,  now  shrieked  aloud,  lik~ 
an  animal  for  its  dead  young!  But  the  brute  has  at  least 
done  its  duty,  suckled  its  offspring,  warmed  and  protected  it 
with  its  own  body,  as  long  as  it  could.  But  she,  the  more 
highly  organized  creature — for  only  human  beings  are  capable 
of  such  unnatural  conduct — had  sacrificed  her  child  to  so- 


276  ON   THE    CROSS. 

called  higher  interests,  had  neither  heeded  Josepha's  warning, 
nor  the  voice  of  her  own  heart.  Now  came  pity  for  the  dead 
child,  now  she  would  fain  have  taken  it  in  her  arms,  called  it 
by  every  loving  name,  cradled  the  weary  little  head  upon  her 
breast.  Too  late!  He  had  passed  away  like  a  smiling  good 
genius,  whom  she  had  repulsed — now  she  was  alone  and  free, 
but  free  like  the  man  who  falls  into  a  chasm  because  the  rope 
which  bound  him  to  the  guide  broke.  She  had  not  known 
that  she  possessed  a  child,  while  he  lived,  now  that  he  was 
dead  she  knew  it.  Maternal  joy  could  not  teach  her,  for  she  had 
never  experienced  it — maternal  grief 'did — and  she  was  forced 
to  taste  it  to  the  dregs.  Though  she  writhed  in  her  torture, 
burying  her  nails  in  the  carpet  as  if  she  would  fain  dig  the 
child  from  the  ground,  she  could  find  no  consolation,  and  let- 
ting her  head  sink  despairingly,  she  murmured :  "  My  child — 
you  have  gone  and  left  me  with  a  guilt  that  can  never  be 
atoned !" 

"  You  can  be  my  mother  in  Heaven,"  he  had  once  said. 
This,  too,  was  forfeited;  neither  in  Heaven  nor  on  earth 
had  she  a  mother's  rights,  for  she  had  denied  her  child,  not 
only  before  the  world  but,  during  this  last  hour,  to  herself 
also. 

Freyer  bore  the  dispensation  differently.  To  him  it  was 
no  punishment,  but  a  trial,  the  inevitable  consequence 
of  unhappy,  unnatural  relations.  He  could  not  reproach 
himself  and  uttered  no  reproaches  to  others.  He  was  no 
novice  in  suffering  and  had  one  powerful  consolation,  which 
she  lacked  :  the  perception  of  the  divinity  of  grief — this  made 
him  strong  and  calm !  Freyer  leaned  against  the  window 
and  gazed  upward  to  the  stars,  which  were  so  peacefully  pur- 
suing their  course.  "  You  were  far  away  from  me  when  you 
lived  in  a  foreign  land,  my  child — now  you  are  near,  my  poor 
little  boy !  This  cold  earth  had  no  home  for  you !  But  to 
your  father  you  will  still  live,  and  your  glorified  spirit  will 
brighten  my  path — the  dark  one  I  must  still  follow ! "  Tears 
flowed  silently  down  his  cheeks.  No  loud  lamentations 
must  profane  his  great,  sacred  anguish.  With  clasped  hands 
he  mutely  battled  it  down  and  as  of  old  on  the  cross  his  eyes 
appealed  to  those  powers  ever  near  the  patient  sufferer  in  the 
hour  of  conflict.  However  insignificant  and  inexperienced 


FALLING   STARS.  2JJ 

he  might  be  in  this  world,  he  was  proportionally  lofty  and 
superior  in  the  knowledge  of  the  things  of  another. 

"  Come,  rise !  "  he  said  gently  to  the  bewildered  woman, 
bending  to  help  her.  She  obeyed,  but  it  was  in  the  same  way 
that  two  strangers,  in  a  moment  of  common  disaster,  lend 
each  other  assistance.  The  tie  had  been  severed  that  day, 
and  the  child's  death  placed  a  grave  between  them. 

"  I  fear  your  sobbing  will  be  heard  downstairs  Will  you 
not  pray  with  me  ?  "  said  Freyer.  "  Do  what  we  may,  we 
are  in  God's  hands  and  must  accept  what  He  sends !  I  wish 
that  you  could  feel  how  the  saints  aid  a  soul  which  suffers  in 
silence.  Loud  outcries  and  unbridled  lamentations  drive 
them  away !  God  does  not  punish  us  to  render  us  impatient, 
but  patient."  He  clasped  his  hands :  "  Come,  let  us  pray  for 
our  child ! "  He  repeated  in  a  low  tone  the  usual,  familiar 
prayers  for  the  dying — we  cannot  always  command  words  to 
express  our  feelings.  An  old  formula  often  stands  us  in  good 
stead,  when  the  agitation  of  our  souls  will  not  suffer  us  to  find 
language,  and  our  thoughts,  swept  to  and  fro  by  the  tempest 
of  feeling,  gladly  cling  to  a  familiar  form  to  which  they  give 
new  life." 

The  countess  did  not  understand  this.  She  was  annoyed 
by  the  commonplace  phraseology,  which  was  not  hallowed  to 
her  by  custom  and  piety — she  was  contemptuous  of  a  point 
of  view  which  could  find  consolation  for  such  a  grief  by  bab- 
bling "  trivialties."  Freyer  ended  his  prayer,  and  remained  a 
moment  with  his  hands  clasped  on  his  breast.  Then  he 
dipped  his  fingers  in  the  holy  water  basin  beside  the  place 
where  the  child's  couch  had  formerly  stood  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  over  himself  and  the  unresponsive  woman. 
She  submitted,  but  winced  as  if  he  had  cut  her  face  with  a 
knife  and  destroyed  its  beauty.  It  reminded  her  of  the  hour 
in  Ammergau  when  he  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  her 
for  the  first  time  !  Then  she  had  felt  enrolled  by  this  symbol 
in  a  mysterious  army  of  sufferers  and  there  her  misery  began. 

"We  must  now  arrange  where  we  will  have  the  child 
buried,"  said  Freyer;  "  I  think  we  should  bring  him  here,  tha*- 
we  may  still  have  our  angel's  grave !  " 

"  As  you  choose  !  "  she  said  in  an  exhausted  tone,  wiping 
away  her  tears.  "  It  will  be  best  for  you  to  go  and  attend  to 


278  ON  THE   CROSS. 

everything  yourself.  Then  you  can  bring  the — body !  "  The 
word  again  destroyed  her  composure.  She  saw  the  child  in 
his  coffin  with  Josepha,  the  faithful  servant  who  had  nursed 
him,  beside  it,  and  an  unspeakable  jealousy  seized  her  con- 
cerning the  woman  to  whom  she  had  so  indifferently  resigned 
all  her  rights.  The  child,  always  so  ready  to  lavish  its  love, 
was  lying  cold  and  rigid,  and  she  would  give  her  life  if  it 
could  rise  once  more,  throw  its  little  arms  around  her  neck, 
and  say  "  my  dear  mother."  "  Pearl  of  Heaven — I  have  cast 
you  away  for  wretched  tinsel  and  now,  when  the  angels  have 
taken  you  again,  I  recognize  your  value."  She  tore  the 
jewels  from  her  breast.  "  There,  take  these  glittering  stars  of 
my  frivolous  life  and  put  them  in  his  coffin — I  never  want  to 
see  them  again — let  their  rays  be  quenched  in  my  child's 
grave." 

"  The  sacrifice  comes  too  late ! "  said  Freyer,  pushing  the 
stones  away.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  harsh,  but  he  could  not 
be  untruthful.  What  was  a  handful  of  diamonds  flung  away 
in  a  moment  of  impulse  to  the  Countess  Wildenau  ?  Did  she 
seek  to  buy  with  them  pardon  for  her  guilt  toward  her  dead 
child  ?  The  father's  aching  heart  could  not  accept  that  pay- 
ment on  account!  Or  was  it  meant  for  the  symbol  of  a 
greater  sacrifice — a  sacrifice  of  her  former  life  ?  Then  it  came 
too  late,  too  late  for  the  dead  and  for  the  living ;  it  could  not 
avail  the  former,  and  the  latter  no  longer  believed  in  it ! 

She  had  understood  him  and  the  terrible  accusation  which 
he  unwittingly  brought  against  her!  Standing  before  him  as 
if  before  a  judge,  she  felt  that  God  was  with  him  at  that 
moment — but  she  was  deserted,  her  angel  had  left  her,  there 
was  no  pity  for  her  in  Heaven  or  on  earth — save  from  one 
person!  The  thought  illumined  the  darkness  of  her  misery. 
There  was  but  one  who  would  pour  balm  upon  her  wounds, 
one  who  had  indulgence  and  love  enough  to  raise  the  droop- 
ing head,  pardon  the  criminal — her  noble,  generous-hearted 
friend,  the  Prince !  She  would  fly  to  him,  seek  shelter  from 
the  gloomy  spirit  which  had  pursued  her  ever  since  she  con- 
jured up  in  Ammergau  the  cruel  God  who  asked  such  impos- 
sible things  and  punished  so  terribly. 

"  Pray,  order  the  carriage — I  must  leave  here  or  I  shall 
die." 


FALLING   STARS.  27.9 

Freyer  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  The  half-hour  Martin  re- 
quired is  over,  he  will  be  here  directly." 

"  Js  it  only  half  an  hour?  Oh!  God — is  it  possible — so 
much  misery  in  half  an  hour !  It  seems  an  eternity  since  the 
news  came !  " 

"  We  can  feel  more  grief  in  one  moment  than  pleasure  in 
a  thousand  years ! "  answered  Freyer.  "  It  is  probably  be- 
cause a  just  Providence  allots  to  each  an  equal  measure  of 
joy  and  pain — but  the  pain  must  be  experienced  in  this  brief 
existence,  while  we  have  an  eternity  for  joy.  Woe  betide  him, 
who  does  the  reverse — keeps  the  pain  for  eternity  and  squand- 
ers the  joy  in  this  world.  He  is  like  the  foolish  virgins  who. 
burned  their  oil  before  fVl±_C2ITliriC  nf  thft-pari^pproom.'  " 

The  countess  nodded.  She  understood  the  deep  signifi- 
cance of  Freyer's  words. 

"  But  we  of  the  people  say  that  '  whom  God  loveth,  He 
chasteneth,' "  he  continued,  "and  I  interpret  that  to  mean  that 
He  compels  those  whom  He  wishes  to  save  to  bear  their  por- 
tion here  below,  that  the  joy  may  be  reserved  for  them  in 
Heaven  !  To  such  favored  souls  He  sends  an  angel  with  the 
cup  of  wormwood  and  wherever  it  flees  and  hides — he  finds 
it.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  angel  circles  around  it  on  his  dark 
pinions,  till  it  sinks  with  fatigue,  and  fainting  with  thirst  like 
the  Saviour  on  the  Cross — drinks  the  bitter  draught  as  if  it 
were  the  most  delicious  refreshment." 

The  countess  gazed  into  his  face  with  timid  admiration. 
He  seemed  to  her  the  gloomy  messenger  of  whom  he  spoke, 
she  fancied  she  could  hear  the  rustle  of  his  wings  as  he  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  in  ever  narrowing  circles,  till  escape  was  no 
longer  possible.  Like  a  hunted  animal  she  took  to  flight — 
seeking  deliverance  at  any  cost.  Thank  Heaven,  the  car- 
riage! Martin  was  driving  up.  A  cold  :  "Farewell,  I  hope 
you  may  gain  consolation  and  strength  for  the  sad  journey !  " 
was  murmured  to  the  father  who  was  going  to  bring  home  the 
body  of  his  dead  child — then  she  entered  the  carriage. 

Freyer  wrapped  the  fur  robe  carefully  around  the  delicate 
form  of  his  wife,  but  not  another  word  escaped  his  lips. 
What  he  said  afterward  to  his  God,  when  he  returned  to  the 
deserted  house,  Countess  Wildenau  must  answer  for  at  some 
future  day. 


280  ON    THE    CROSS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


NOLI    ME    TANGERE. 

"  I  have  attracted  you  by  a  Play — for  you  were  a  child,  and 
children  are  taught  by  games.  But  when  one  method  of  in- 
struction is  exhausted  it  is  cast  aside  and  exchanged  for  a 
higher  one,  that  the  child  may  ripen  to  maturity."  Thus 
spoke  the  voice  of  the  Heavenly  Teacher  to  the  countess  as, 
absorbed  in  her  grief,  she  drove  through  the  dusk  of  a  win- 
try morning.  She  almost  wondered,  as  she  gazed  out  into  the 
grey  dawn,  that  the  day-star  was  not  weary  of  pursuing  its 
course.  Aye,  the  mysterious  voice  spoke  the  truth  :  the  play 
was  over,  that  method  of  instruction  was  exhausted,  but  she 
did  not  yet  feel  ready  for  a  sterner  one  and  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  it. 

Instead  of  the  divine  Kindergarten  instructor,  came  the 
gloomy  teacher  death,  forcing  the  attention  of  the  refractory 
pupil  by  the  first  pitiless  blow  upon  her  own  flesh  and  blood ! 
Day  was  dawning — in  nature  as  well  as  in  her  own  soul,  but 
the  sun  shone  upon  a  winding  sheet,  outside  as  well  as  in,  a 
world  dead  in  the  clasp  of  winter.  Where  was  the  day  when 
the  redeeming  love  for  which  she  hoped  would  appear  to  her 
in  the  spring  garden  ?  Woe  to  all  who  believed  in  spring. 
Their  best  gift  was  a  cold  winter  sunlight  on  snow-covered 
graves. 

The  corpse  of  her  spring  dream  was  lying  on  the  laughing 
shores  of  the  Riviera. 

The  God  whom  she  sought  was  very  different  from  the 
one  she  intended  to  banish  from  her  heart.  The  new  teacher 
seized  her  hand  with  bony  fingers  and  forced  her  to  look 
closely  at  the  God  whom  she  herself  had  created,  and  whom 
she  now  upbraided  with  having  deceived  her.  "  What  kind 
of  God  would  this  creature  of  your  imagination  be?"  rang  in 
her  ears  with  pitiless  mockery.  Aye,  she  had  believed  Him 
to  be  the  Jupiter  who  loved  mortal  women,  only  in  the  course 
of  the  ages  he  had  changed  his  name  and  now  appeared  as 
Christ.  But  she  was  now  forced  to  learn  that  He  was  no  off- 
spring of  the  sensual  fancy  of  the  nations,  but  a  contrast  to 


NOLI    ME    TANGERE.  2&I 

every  natural  tendency  and  desire — a  true  God,  not  a  creation 
of  mankind.  Were  it  not  so,  men  would  have  invented  a 
more  complaisant  one.  Must  not  that  be  a  divine  power 
which,  in  opposition  to  all  human,  all  earthly  passions,  with 
neither  splendor,  nor  power,  with  the  most  insignificant  means 
has  established  an  empire  throughout  the  world  ?  Aye,  she  re- 
cognized with  reverent  awe  that  this  was  a  God,  though  un- 
like the  one  whom  she  sought,  Christ  was  not  Jupiter — and 
Freyer  was  not  Christ.  The  latter  cannot  be  clasped  in  the 
arms,  does  not  yield  to  earthly  yearning,  no  matter  how  fer- 
vently devout.  Spirit  as  He  is,  He  vanishes,  even  where  He 
reveals  Himself  in  material  form,  and  whoever  thinks  to  grasp 
Him,  holds  but  the  poor  doll,  whom  He  gave  for  a  momentary 
support  to  the  childish  mind,  which  seeks  solely  what  is 
tangible ! 

Mary  Magdalene  was  permitted  to  serve  and  anoint  Him 
when  He  walked  on  earth  in  human  form,  but  when  she  tried 
to  clasp  the  risen  Lord  the  "  noli  me  tangere"  thundered  in 
her  ears,  and  God  withdrew  from  mortal  touch.  In  Mary 
Magdalene,  however,  the  love  kindled  by  the  visible  Master 
was  strong  enough  to  burn  on  for  the  invisible  One — she  no 
longer  sought  Him  among  the  living,  but  went  into  solitude 
and  lived  for  the  vanished  Christ.  But  the  countess  had  not 
advanced  so  far.  What  "  God  of  Love  "  was  this,  who  im- 
posed conditions  which  made  the  warm  blood  freeze,  killed 
the  warm  life-pulses  ?  What  possession  was  this,  which  could 
only  be  obtained  by  renunciation,  what  joy  that  could  be  at- 
tained solely  by  mortification  ?  Her  passionate  nature  could 
not  comprehend  this  contradiction.  She  longed  to  clasp  His 
knees  and  wipe  His  feet  with  her  hair,  at  least  that,  nothing 
more,  only  that — she  would  be  modest !  But  not  even  that 
was  allowed  her. 

This  was  the  great  impulse  of  religious  materialism,  in 
which  divinity  and  humanity  met,  the  Magdalene  element  in 
the  history  of  the  conversion  of  mankind,  which  attracted  souls 
like  that  of  Madeleine  von  Wildenau,  made  them  feel  for  an 
instant  the  bliss  of  the  immediate  presence  of  God,  and  then 
left  them  disappointed  and  alone  until  they  perceived  that  in 
that  one  instant  wings  have  grown — strong  enough  to  bear 
them  up  to  Heaven,  if  they  once  learned  to  use  them. 


282  ON   THE   CROSS. 

Thus  quivering  and  forsaken,  the  heart  of  the  modern 
Magdalene  lay  on  the  earth  when  the  first  noli  me  tangere 
echoed  in  her  ears.  She  had  never  known  that  there  were 
things  which  could  not  be  had,  and  now  that  she  wanted  a 
God  and  could  not  obtain  Him,  she  murmured  like  a  child 
which  longs  in  vain  for  the  stars  until  it  attains  a  higher  con- 
sciousness of  ownership  than  lies  in  mere  personal  possession, 
the  feeling  which  in  quiet  contemplation  of  the  starry  firma- 
ment fills  us  with  the  proud  consciousness :  "  This  is  yours  !" 

Everything  is  ours — and  nothing,  according  to  our  view  of 
it.  To  expand  our  breasts  with  its  mighty  thoughts — to  merge 
ourselves  in  it  and  revel  in  the  whirling  dance  of  the  atoms, 
in  that  sense  the  universe  is  ours.  But  absorb  and  contain  it 
we  cannot ;  in  that  way  it  does  not  belong  to  us.  It  is  the 
same  with  God.  Greatness  cannot  enter  littleness — the  small 
must  be  absorbed  by  the  great ;  but  its  power  of  possession 
lies  in  the  very  fact  that  it  can  do  this  and  still  retain  its  own 
nature.  How  long  will  it  last,  and  what  will  it  cost,  ere  the 
impatient  child  attains  the  peace  of  this  realization  ? 

In  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  dawn  the  countess  drove  past 
a  little  church  in  the  suburbs  of  Munich.  It  was  the  hour  for 
early  mass.  A  few  sleepy,  shivering  old  women,  closely 
muffled,  were  shuffling  over  the  snow  in  big  felt  shoes  toward 
the  open  door.  A  dim  ray  of  light  streamed  out,  no  organ 
notes,  no  festal  display  lured  worshippers,  for  it  was  a  "  low 
mass."  It  was  cold  and  gloomy  outside,  songless  within.  Yet 
the  countess  suddenly  stopped  the  carriage. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  church  a  moment,"  she  said,  tottering 
forward  with  uncertain  steps,  for  she  was  exhausted  both  phys- 
ically and  mentally.  The  old  women  eyed  her  malignantly, 
as  if  asking  :  "  What  do  you  want  among  poor  ugly  crones 
who  drag  their  crooked  limbs  out  of  bed  so  early  to  go  to  their 
Saviour,  because  later  they  must  do  the  work  of  their  little 
homes  and  cannot  get  away  ?  What  brings  you  to  share  with 
us  the  bitter  bread  of  poverty,  the  bread  of  the  poor  in  spirit, 
with  which  our  Saviour  fed  the  five  thousand  and  will  feed 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  more  from  eternity  to  eter- 
nity ?  Of  what  use  to  you  are  the  crumbs  scattered  here  for 
a  few  beggars  ?" 

She  felt  ashamed  as  she  moved  in  her  long  velvet  train  and 


NOLI    ME   TANGERE.  283 

costly  fur  cloak  past  the  cowering  figures  redolent  of  the 
musty  straw  beds  and  close  sleeping  rooms  whence  they  had 
come,  and  read  these  questions  on  the  wrinkled  faces  peering 
from  under  woollen  hoods  and  caps,  as  if  she,  the  rich  woman, 
had  come  to  take  something  from  the  poor.  She  had  gone 
forward  to  the  empty  front  benches  near  the  altar,  where  the 
timid  common  people  do  not  venture  to  sit,  but — she  knew 
not  why — as  she  was  about  to  kneel  there,  she  suddenly  felt 
that  she  could  not  cut  off  a  view  of  any  part  of  the  altar  from 
the  people  behind,  deprive  them  of  anything  to  which  she  had 
no  right,  and  turning  she  went  back  to  the  last  seat.  There, 
behind  a  trembling  old  man  in  a  shabby  woollen  blouse,  who 
could  scarcely  bend  his  stiff  knees  and  sat  coughing  and  gasp- 
ing, and  a  consumptive  woman,  who  was  passing  the  beads  of 
her  rosary  between  thin,  crooked  fingers,  she  knelt  down. 
She  was  more  at  ease  now — she  felt  that  she  had  no  rights 
here,  that  she  was  the  least  among  the  lowliest. 

The  church  was  still  dark,  it  had  not  yet  been  lighted,  the 
sacristan  was  obliged  to  be  saving — every  one  knew  that. 
The  faint  ray  which  streamed  through  the  door  came  from  the 
candle  ends  brought  by  the  congregation,  who  set  them  in 
front  of  the  praying-desks  to  read  their  prayer-books.  The 
first  person  was  compelled  to  use  a  match,  the  others  lighted 
their  candles  from  his  and  were  glad  to  be  able  to  save  the 
matches.  It  was  a  silent  agreement,  which  every  one  knew. 
Here  and  there  a  tiny  light  glowed  brightly — ever  and  anon 
in  some  dark  corner  the  slight  snap  of  a  match  was  heard  and 
directly  after  a  column  or  the  image  of  some  saint  emerged 
from  the  wavering  shadows,  now  fainter,  now  more  distinct, 
according  as  the  light  flashed  up  and  down,  till  it  burned 
clearly.  Then  the  nave  grew  bright  and  the  breath  of  the 
congregation  rose  through  the  cold  church  over  the  little 
flames  like  clouds  of  incense.  The  high-altar  alone  still  lay 
veiled  in  darkness.  The  light  of  a  wax-candle  on  the  bench 
in  front  shone  brightly  into  the  countess'  eyes.  The  woman 
in  the  three-cornered  kerchief  with  the  sunken  temples  and 
bony  hands  glanced  back  and  gazed  mournfully,  almost  re- 
proachfully, into  her  face  and  at  her  rich  fur  cloak.  Madeleine 
von  Wildenau  was  ashamed  of  her  beauty,  ashamed  that  she 
wore  fur*  while  the  woman  in  front  of  her  scarcely  had  her 


284  ON    THE    CROSS. 

shoulders  covered.  She  felt  burdened,  she  almost  wanted  to 
excuse  herself.  If  she  were  poor  also — she  would  have  no 
cause  to  be  ashamed.  She  gently  drew  out  her  purse  and 
slipped  the  contents  into  the  woman's  hand.  The  latter  drew 
back  startled,  she  could  not  believe,  could  not  understand 
that  she  was  really  to  take  it,  that  the  lady  was  in  earnest. 

"  May  God  reward  you !  I'll  pray  for  you  a  thousand 
times!"  she  whispered,  and  a  great,  unutterable  emotion  filled 
the  countess'  soul  as  she  met  the  poor  woman's  grateful 
glance.  Then  the  kneeling  crone  nudged  her  neighbor,  the 
coughing,  stammering  old  man,  and  pressed  a  gold  coin  into 
his  hand. 

"  There's  something  for  you !  You're  poor  and  needy 
too." 

The  latter  looked  at  the  woman,  who  was  a  stranger,  as 
though  she  were  an  apparition  from  another  world.  "  Why, 
what  is  this?  "  he  murmured  with  difficulty. 

"  The  lady  behind  gave  it  to  me,"  said  the  woman,  point- 
ing backward  with  her  thumb. 

The  old  man  nodded  to  the  lady,  as  well  as  his  stiff  neck 
would  permit,  and  the  woman  did  not  notice  that  he  ought  to 
have  thanked  her,  as  the  money  was  given  to  her  and  she  had 
voluntarily  shared  it  with  him. 

Countess  Wildenau  experienced  a  strange  emotion  of 
satisfaction  as  if  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  had  aright  here, 
and  with  the  gift  she  had  purchased  her  share  of  the  "  bread 
of  poverty." 

At  last  there  was  a  movement  near  the  high  altar.  A 
sleepy  alcolyte  shuffled  in,  made  his  reverence  before  it 
and  lighted  a  candle,  which  would  not  burn  because  he  did 
not  wait  till  the  wax,  which  was  stiffened  by  the  cold, 
had  melted.  While  he  was  lighting  the  second,  the  first  went 
out  and  he  was  obliged  to  begin  his  task  anew.  The  wand 
wavered  to  and  fro  a  long  time  in  the  boy's  numb  hands,  but 
at  last  the  altar  was  lighted,  the  boy  bowed  again,  and  went 
down  the  stone  steps  into  the  vestry-room.  This  was  ordinary 
prose,  but.  the  devout  worshippers  did  not  perceive  it.  They 
all  knew  the  wondrous  spell  of  fire,  with  which  the  Catholic 
church  consecrates  candles  and  gives  their  light  the  power  to 
scatter  the  princes  of  darkness,  and  rejoiced  in  the  victorious 


NOLI    ME    TANGERE.  285 

rays  from  which  the  evil  spirits  fled,  they  saw  their  gliding 
shadows  dart  in  wild  haste  through  the  church  and  the  sleepy 
boy  who  had  wrought  the  miracle  by  means  of  his  lighter 
disappear.  The  light  shines,  no  matter  who  kindles  it.  The 
poor  dark  souls,  illumined  by  no  ray  of  earthly  hope,  eagerly 
absorbed  its  cheering  rays  and  so  long  as  the  consecrated 
candles  burned,  the  ghosts  of  care,  discord,  envy,  and  all  the 
other  demons  of  poverty  were  spell-bound  !  Now  the  priest 
entered,  clad  in  his  white  robes,  accompanied  by  two  attend- 
ants. 

A  deathlike  stillness  reigned  throughout  the  church.  In 
a  low,  almost  inaudible  whisper  he  read  the  Latin  text,  which 
no  one  understood,  but  whose  meaning  every  one  knew,  even 
the  countess. 

Everything  which  gives  an  impulse  to  the  independent  ac- 
tivitv  of  the  soul  produces  more  effect  than  what  is  received  in 
a  complete  form.  During  the  incomprehensible  muttering,  the 
countess  had  time  to  recall  the  whole  mighty  drama  to  which 
it  referred  better  and  more  vividly  than  any  distinct  prosaic 
theological  essay  could  have  described  it.  Again  she  experi- 
enced all  the  horrors  of  the  Passion,  as  she  had  done  in  the 
Passion  Play — only  this  time  invisibly,  instead  of  visibly — 
spiritually  instead  of  materially — "Noli  me  tangere!  " 

The  priest  stooped  and  kissed  the  altar,  it  meant  the 
Judas  kiss.  Can  you  kiss  those  lips  and  not  fall  down  to 
worship  ? "  cried  a  voice  in  the  countess'  heart,  as  it 
had  done  nine  years  before,  and  a  nameless  longing  seized 
upon  her  for  the  divine  contact  which  had  fallen  to  the 
traitor's  lot — but  "  Noli  me  tangere"  rang  in  the  ears  of  the 
penitent  Magdalene.  Before  her  stood  an  altar  and  a  priest, 
not  Christ  nor  Judas,  and  the  kiss  she  envied  was  imprinted 
upon  white  linen,  not  the  Saviour's  lips.  She  pressed  her 
hands  upon  her  heart  and  a  few  bitter  tears  oozed  from  be- 
neath her  drooping  lashes.  She  was  like  the  blind  princess  in 
Henrik  Hertz'  wonderful  poem,  who,  when  she  suddenly 
obtained  her  sight,  no  longer  knew  herself  among  the  objects 
which  she  had  formerly  recognized  only  by  touch,  and  fancied 
that  she  had  lost  everything  which  was  dear  and  familiar — 
because  she  had  gained  a  new  sense  which  she  knew  not  how 
to  use — a  higher  one  than  that  of  her  groping  finger,  tips. 


286  ON    THE    CROSS. 

Then  in  her  fear  she  turned  to  the  invisible  world  and  recog- 
nized it  only,  it  alone  had  not  changed  with  outward  pheno- 
mena because  alike  to  the  blind  and  those  who  had  sight  it 
revealed  itself  only  to  the  mind.  It  was  the  same  with  the 
countess.  The  world  which  she  could  touch  with  her  fingers 
had  vanished  and  before  her  newly  awakened  sense  lay  a 
boundless  space  filled  with  strange  forms,  which  all  seemed 
so  unattainably  distant;  one  only  remained  the  same:  the  God 
whom  she  had  never  seen.  And  now  when  everything  once 
familiar  and  near  was  transformed  and  removed  to  a  vast  dis- 
tance, when  everything  appeared  under  a  wholly  different 
guise,  it  was  He  to  whom  her  heart,  accustomed  to  blindness, 
sought  and  found  the  way. 

The  priest  was  completely  absorbed  in  his  prayer-book. 
What  he  beheld  the  others  felt  with  mysterious  awe.  It  was 
like  looking  through  a  telescope  into  a  strange  world,  while 
those  who  were  not  permitted  to  do  so  stood  by  and  imagined 
what  the  former  beheld. 

The  Sursum  corda  fell  slowly  from  the  lips  of  the  priest. 
The  bell  sounded.  "  Christ  is  present !  "  The  congregation, 
as  if  dazzled,  bowed  their  faces  and  crossed  themselves  in  the 
presence  of  the  marvel  that  Heaven  itself  vouchsafed  to 
descend  to  their  unworthy  selves.  Again  the  bell  sounded 
for  the  transformation,  and  perfect  silence  followed — while  the 
miracle  was  being  wrought  by  which  God  entered  the  mouths 
of  mortals  to  be  the  bread  of  life  to  mankind. 

This  was  the  bread  of  the  poor  and  simple-hearted,  whose 
crumbs  the  Countess  Wildenau  had  that  day  stolen  and  was 
eating  with  secret  shame. 

The  mass  was  over,  the  priest  pronounced  the  benediction 
and  withdrew  to  the  vestry-room.  The  people  put  out  their 
bits  of  wax  candles — clouds  of  light  smoke  rilled  the  church. 
It  was  like  Christmas  Eve,  after  the  children  have  gone  to 
bed  and  the  candles  on  the  tree  are  extinguished — but  their 
hearts  are  still  full  of  Christmas  joy.  The  countess  knew  not 
why  the  thought  entered  her  mind,  but  she  suddenly  recol- 
lected that  Christmas  was  close  at  hand  and  she  no  longer 
had  any  child  on  whom  she  could  bestow  gifts.  True,  she 
had  never  done  this  herself,  but  always  left  Josepha  to  attend 
to  the  matter.  This  year,  however,  she  had  thought  she 


NOLI    ME    TANGERE.  287 

would  do  it,  now  it  was  too  late.  Suddenly  she  saw  a  child's 
eyes  gazing  happily  at  a  lighted  tree  and  below  it  a  manger, 
with  the  same  eyes  sparkling  back.  The  whole  world,  heaven 
and  earth  were  glittering  with  children's  beaming  eyes,  but 
the  most  beautiful  of  all — those  of  her  own  boy,  were  closed — 
no  grateful  glance  smiled  upon  her  amid  the  universal  joy,  for 
her  there  was  no  Christmas,  for  it  was  the  mother's  day,  and 
she  was  not  a  mother.  "  Child  in  the  manger,  bend  down  to 
the  sinner  who  mourns  neglected  love  at  Thy  feet."  Sinking 
on  the  kneeling  bench,  she  sobbed  bitterly.  It  was  dark  and 
silent.  The  congregation  had  gone,  the  candles  on  the  altar 
had  been  extinguished  as  fast  as  possible — the  ever-burning 
lamp  cast  dull  red  rays  upon  the  altar,  dawn  was  glimmering 
through  the  frost-covered  window  panes.  All  was  still — only 
in  the  distance  the  cocks  were  crowing.  Again  she  remem- 
bered that  evening  when  her  father  came  and  she  had  knelt 
with  Freyer  in  the  church  before  the  Pieta,  until  the  crowing 
of  the  cock  reminded  her  how  easy  it  was  to  betray  love  and 
fidelity.  Rising  wearily  from  her  knees,  she  dragged  herself 
to  a  Pieta  above  a  side  altar,  and  pressed  her  lips  upon  the 
wounds  of  the  divine  body.  She  gazed  to  see  if  the  eyes 
would  not  once  more  open,  but  it  remained  rigid  and  lifeless, 
this  time  no  echo  answered  the  mute  pleading  of  the  warm 
lips.  No  second  miracle  was  wrought  for  her,  the  hand  which 
guided  her  had  been  withdrawn,  and  like  the  poorest  and 
most  humble  mortal  she  was  forced  to  grope  her  way  wearily 
along  the  arid  path  of  tradition; — it  was  just,  she  had  deserved 
nothing  better,  and  the  great  discovery  which  came  to  her  that 
day  was  that  this  path  also  led  to  God. 

While  thus  absorbed  in  contemplation,  a  voice  suddenly 
startled  her  so  that  she  almost  fainted :  "  What  does  this  mean, 
Countess  ?  You  here  at  early  mass,  in  a  court-train  !  Are 
you  going  to  write  romances — or  live  them  ?  I  have  often 
asked  you  the  question,  but  never  with  so  much  justification 
as  now !  "  Prince  Emil  was  standing  before  her  She  could 
almost  have  shrieked  aloud  in  her  delight.  "  Prince — my 
dear  Prince ! " 

"  Unfortunately,  Prince  no  longer,  but  Duke  of  Metten- 
Barnheim,  in  which  character  I  again  lay  myself  at  your  feet 
and  beg  for  a  continuation  of  your  favor!"  said  the  prince 


288  ON   THE   CROSS. 

with  a  touch  of  humor.  Raising  her  from  her  knees,  he  led 
her  into  the  little  corridor  of  the  church.  "  My  father,"  he 
went  on,  "  feels  so  well  at  Cannes  that  he  wants  to  spend  his 
old  age  there  in  peace,  and  summoned  me  by  telegram  to 
sign  the  abdication  documents  and  take  the  burden  of  govern- 
ment upon  my  young  shoulders.  I  was  just  coming  from  the 
station  and,  as  I  drove  by,  saw  your  carriage  waiting  before 
this  poor  temple.  I  stopped  and  obtained  with  difficulty  from 
the  half  frozen  coachman  information  concerning  the  place 
where  his  mistress  was  seeking  compensation  from  the  ennui 
of  a  court  entertainment !  A  romantic  episode,  indeed !  A 
beautiful  woman  in  court  dress,  weeping  and  doing  penance 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  among  beggars  and  cripples  in 
a  little  church  in  the  suburbs.  A  swearing  coachman  and 
two  horses  stiff  from  the  cold  waiting  outside,  and  lastly  a 
faithful  knight,  who  comes  just  at  the  right  time  to  prevent  a 
moral  suicide  and  save  a  pair  of  valuable  horses — what  more 
can  be  desired  in  our  time,  in  the  way  of  romance  ?  " 

"  Prince — pardon  me,  Duke,  your  mockery  hurts  me." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  you  are  far  too  wearied,  to  understand 
humor.  Come,  I  will  take  you  to  the  carriage.  There,  lean 
on  me,  you  are  ill,  machere  Madeleine,  you  cannot  go  on  in 
this  way.  What — you  will  take  holy  water,  into  which 
Heaven  knows  who  has  dipped  his  fingers.  Well,  to  the  pure 
all  things  are  pure.  Fortunately  the  doubtful  fluid  is  frozen ! " 

Talking  on  in  this  way  he  led  her  out  into  the  open  air. 
A  keen  morning  wind  from  the  mountains  was  sweeping 
through  the  streets  and  cut  the  countess'  tear-stained  face. 
She  involuntarily  hid  it  on  the  duke's  breast.  The  latter  put 
his  arm  gently  around  her  and  lifted  her  into  the  carriage. 
His  own  coachman  was  waiting  near,  but  the  duke  looked  at 
her  beseechingly.  "  May  I  go  with  you  ?  I  cannot  possibly 
leave  you  in  this  state." 

The  countess  nodded.  He  motioned  to  his  servant  to 
drive  home  and  entered  the  Wildenau  equipage.  "  First  of 
all,  Madeleine,"  he  said,  warming  her  cold  hands  in  his,  "tell 
me :  Are  you  already  a  saint — or  do  you  wish  to  become  one  ? 
Whence  dates  this  last  caprice  of  my  adored  friend  ?  " 

"  No  saint,  Duke — neither  now,  nor  ever,  only  a  deeply 
humbled,  contrite  heart,  which  would  fain  fly  from  this  world !  " 


NOLI    ME   TANGERE.  289 

"  But  is  this  world  so  unlovely  that  one  would  fain  try 
Heaven,  while  there  are  people  who  can  be  relied  on  under 
any  circumstances ! " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  countess  bitterly,  but  the  sweetness  of 
the  true  warmth  of  feeling  revealed  through  her  friend's 
humor  was  reviving  and  strengthening  to  her  brain  and  heart. 
In  his  society  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  neither  pain  nor  woe 
on  earth,  as  if  all  gloomy  spirits  must  flee  from  his  unruffled 
calmness.  His  apparent  coldness  produced  the  effect  ot 
champagne  frappe,  which,  ice-cold  when  drunk,  warms  the 
whole  frame. 

"  Oh,  thank  Heaven,  that  you  are  here — I  have  missed 
you  sorely,"  she  said  from  the  depths  of  her  soul.  "  Oh,  my 
friend,  what  is  to  be  done — I  am  helpless  without  you !  " 

"  So  much  the  better  for  me,  if  I  am  indispensable  to  you 
— you  know  that  is  the  goal  of  my  desires !  But  dearest  friend 
— you  are  suffering  and  I  cannot  aid  you  because  I  do  not 
know  the  difficulty !  What  avail  is  a  physician,  who  cures  only 
the  symptoms,  not  the  disease.  You  are  simply  bungling 
about  on  your  own  responsibility  and  every  one  knows  that  is 
the  worst  thing  a  sick  person  can  do.  Consumptives  use  the 
hunger-cure,  anaemics  resort  to  blood  letting.  You,  my  dear 
Madeleine,  I  think,  do  the  same  thing.  Mortification,  when 
your  vital  strength  is  waning,  moral  blood-letting,  while  the 
heart  needs  food  and  warmth.  What  kind  of  cure  is  it  to  be 
up  all  night  long  and  wander  about  in  cold  churches,  with  the 
thermometer  marking  below  freezing,  early  in  the  morning.  I 
should  advise  you  to  edit  a  book  on  the  physiology  of  the 
nerves.  You  are  like  the  man  in  the  fairy-tale  who  wanted  to 
learn  to  shiver."  An  involuntary  smile  hovered  about  the 
countess'  lips. 

"  Duke — your  humor  is  beginning  to  conquer.  No  doubt 
you  are  right  in  many  things,  but  you  do  not  know  the  state 
of  my  mind.  My  life  is  destroyed,  the  axe  is  laid  at  the  root, 
happiness,  honor — all  are  lost." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  has  happened  to  thus  over- 
whelm you  ? "  asked  the  duke,  still  in  the  most  cheerful 
mood. 

She  could  not  tell  him  the  truth  and  pleaded  some  incident 
at  court  as  an  excuse.  Then  in  a  few  words  she  told  him  of 

19 


290  ON   THE   CROSS. 

the  queen's  displeasure,  the  malice  of  her  enemies,  her  im- 
perilled position. 

"  And  do  you  take  this  so  tragically  ? "  The  prince 
laughed  aloud  :  "  Pardon  me,  chere  amie — but  one  can't  help 
laughing !  A  woman  like  you  to  despair  because  a  few  stiff 
old  court  sycophants  look  askance  at  you,  and  the  queen  does 
not  understand  you  which,  with  the  dispositions  you  both 
have,  was  precisely  what  might  have  been  expected.  It  is 
too  comical!  It  is  entirely  my  own  fault — I  ought  to  have 
considered  it — but  I  expected  you  to  show  more  feminine 
craft  and  diplomacy.  That  you  disdained  to  employ  the  petty 
arts  which  render  one  a  Persona  grata  at  court  is  only  an 
honor  to  you,  and  if  a  few  fops  presumed  to  adopt  an  insolent 
manner  to  you,  they  shall  receive  a  lesson  which  will  teach 
them  that  your  honor  is  mine!  Nay,  it  ought  to  amuse  you, 
to  feign  death  awhile  and  see  how  the  mice  will  all  come  out 
and  dance  around  you  to  scatter  again  when  the  lioness 
awakes.  Do  you  talk  of  destroyed  happiness  and  roots  to 
which  the  axe  is  laid  ?  Oh,  women — women !  You  can  de- 
spair over  a  plaything!  For  this  position  at  court  could  never 
be  aught  save  a  toy  to  you ! " 

"  But  to  retire  thus  in  shame  and  disgrace — would  you  en- 
dure it — if  it  should  happen  to  you?  Ought  not  a  woman  to 
be  as  sensitive  concerning  her  honor  as  a  man  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  your  honor  will  suffer,  because  the  restraint 
of  court  life  does  not  suit  you !  Or  is  it  because  you  do  not 
understand  the  queen  ?  Why,  surely  persons  are  not  always 
sympathetic  and  avoid  one  another  without  any  regret;  does 
the  fact  become  so  fateful  because  one  of  you  wears  a  crown  ? 
In  that  case  I  beg  you  to  remember  that  a  crown  is  hovering 
over  your  head  also — a  crown  that  is  ready  to  descend  when- 
ever that  head  will  receive  it,  and  that  you  will  then  be  in  a 
position  to  address  Her  Majesty  as  '  chere  cousine  ! '  You, 
a  Princess  von  Prankenberg,  a  Countess  Wildenau,  fly  like  a 
rebuked  child  at  an  ungracious  glance  from  the  queen  and 
her  court  into  a  corner  of  a  church  ?  "  He  shook  his  head. 
"  There  must  be  something  else.  What  is  it  ?  I  shall  never 
learn,  but  you  cannot  deceive  me !" 

The  countess  was  greatly  disconcerted.  She  tried  to  find 
another  plausible  pretext  for  her  mood  and,  like  all  natures  to 


NOLI    ME   TANGERE.  29! 

whom  deception  is  not  natural,  said  precisely  what  betrayed 
her :  "  I  am  anxious  about  the  Wildenaus — they  are  only 
watching  for  the  moment  when  they  can  compromise  me  un- 
punished, and  if  the  queen  withdraws  her  favor,  they  need 
show  me  no  farther  consideration." 

The  duke  frowned.  "  Ah !  ah !  " — he  said  slowly,  under 
his  breath  :  "  What  do  you  fear  from  the  Wildenaus,  how  can 
they  compromise  you  ?  " 

The  countess,  startled,  kept  silence.  She  saw  that  she 
had  betrayed  herself. 

"  Madeleine" — he  spoke  calmly  and  firmly — "  everything 
must  now  be  clearly  understood  between  us.  What  connec- 
tion was  there  between  Wildenau  and  that  mysterious  boy  ? 
1  must  know,  for  I  see  that  that  is  the  quarter  whence  the 
danger  which  you  fear  is  threatening  you,  and  i  must  know 
how  to  avert  it — you  have  just  heard  that  your  honor  is 
mine"  There  was  a  shade  of  sternness  in  his  tone,  the  stern- 
ness of  an  resolve  to  take  this  weak,  wavering  woman  under 
his  protection. 

"  The  child  " — she  faltered,  trembling  from  head  to  foot — 
"  ah,  no — there  is  nothing  more  to  be  feared  from  him — he  is 
dead !" 

"  Dead  ?"  asked  the  duke  gently.     "  Since  when  ?" 

"  Since  yesterday  !"  And  the  proud  countess,  sobbing  un- 
controllably, sank  upon  his  breast. 

A  long  silence  followed. 

The  duke  passed  his  arm  around  her  and  let  her  weep  her 
fill.  "  My  poor  Madeleine — I  understand  everything."  An 
indescribable  emotion  filled  the  hearts  of  both.  Not  another 
word  was  exchanged. 

The  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  Wildenau 
palace.  Her  little  cold  hands  clasped  his  beseechingly. 

"  Do  not  desert  me!"  she  whispered  hurriedly. 

"  Less  than  ever !"  he  replied  gravely  and  firmly. 

"  Her  Highness  is  ill !"  he  said  to  the  servants  who  came 
hurrying  out  and  helped  the  tottering  woman  up  the  steps. 
She  entered  the  boudoir,  where  the  duke  himself  removed  her 
cloak.  It  was  a  singular  sight — the  haughty  figure  in  full 
evening  dress,  adorned  with  jewels,  in  the  light  of  the  dawn- 
ing day — like  some  beautiful  spirit  of  the  night,  left  behind  by 


2Q2  ON    THE    CROSS. 

her  companions  who  had  fled  from  the  first  sunbeams,  and 
now  stood  terrified,  vainly  striving  to  conceal  herself  in  dark- 
ness. "  Poor  wandering  sprite,  where  is  the  home  your  tear- 
ful eyes  are  seeking  ?"  said  the  prince,  overwhelmed  by  pity 
as  he  saw  the  grief-worn  face.  "  Yes,  Madeleine,  you  are  too 
beautiful  for  the  broad  glare  of  day.  Such  visions  suit  the 
verl  of  evening — the  magical  lustre  of  drawing-rooms !  By 
day  one  feels  as  if  the  night  had  been  robbed  of  an  elf,  who 
having  lost  her  wings  by  the  morning  light  was  compelled  to 
stay  among  common  mortals."  Carried  away  by  an  outburst 
of  feeling,  he  approached  her  with  open  arms.  A  strange  con- 
flict of  emotion  was  seething  in  her  breast.  She  had  longed 
for  him,  as  for  the  culture  she  had  despised — she  felt  that 
she  could  not  live  without  him,  that  without  him  she  could 
not  exorcise  the  spirits  she  had  conjured  up  to  destroy  her, 
her  ear  listened  with  rapture  to  the  expression  of  love  in  cul- 
tured language,  but  when  he  strove  to  approach  her — it 
seemed  as  if  that  unapproachable  something  which  had  cried 
"  Noli  me  tangere  !"  had  established  its  throne  in  her  own 
heart  since  she  had  knelt  among  the  beggars  early  that  morn- 
ing, and  now,  in  spite  of  herself,  cried  in  its  solemn  dignity 
fiom  her  lips  the  "  Noli  me  tangere"  to  another. 

And,  without  words,  the  duke  understood  it,  respected 
her  mute  denial,  and  reverently  drew  back  a  step. 

"  Do  you  not  wish  to  change  your  dress,  you  are  utterly 
exhausted.  If  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  you  to  have  me  stay,  I 
will  wait  till  you  have  regained  your  strength.  Then  I  will 
beg  permission  to  breakfast  with  you !"  he  said  with  his  wonted 
calmness. 

"  Yes,  I  thank  you  !"  she  answered — with  a  two-fold  mean- 
ing, and  left  the  room  with  a  bearing  more  dignified  than  the 
duke  had  ever  seen,  as  though  she  had  an  invisible  companion 
of  whom  she  was  proud. 


ATTEMPTS   TO    RESCUE.  293 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 


ATTEMPTS   TO    RESCUE. 

THE  countess  remained  absent  a  long  time,  while  the  duke 
sat  at  the  window  of  the  boudoir  gazing  out  into  the  frosty 
winter  morning,  but  without  seeing  what  was  passing  outside. 
Before  him  lay  a  shattered  happiness,  a  marred  destiny.  The 
happiness  was  his,  the  destiny  hers.  "  There  is  surely  noth- 
ing weaker  than  a  woman — even  the  strongest!"  he  thought, 
shaking  his  head  mournfully.  Ought  we  not  to  punish  this 
personator  of  Christ,  who  used  his  mask  to  break  into  the  cit- 
adel of  our  circle  and  steal  what  did  not  belong  to  him  ? 
Pshaw,  how  could  the  poor  fellow  help  it  if  an  eccentric 
woman  out  of  ennui — ah,  no,  we  should  not  think  of  it !  But 
— what  is  to  be  done  now  ?  Shall  I  sacrifice  this  superb 
creature  to  an  insipid  prejudice,  because  she  sacrificed  herself 
and  everything  else  to  a  childish  delusion  ?  Where  is  the 
man  pure  enough  to  condemn  you  because  when  you  give, 
you  give  wholly,  royally,  and  in  your  proud  self-forgetfulness 
fling  what  others  would  outweigh  with  kingly  crowns  into  the 
lap  of  a  beggar  who  can  offer  you  nothing  in  exchange,  not 
even  appreciation  of  your  value — which  he  is  too  uncultured 
to  perceive. 

"  Alas !  such  a  woman- — to  be  thrown  away  on  such  a 
man  !  And  should  I  not  save  her  ?  Should  I  weakly  desert 
her — I,  the  only  person  who  can  forgive  because  I  am  the 
only  one  who  understands  her  ? — No !  It  would  be  against 
all  the  logic  of  destiny  and  reason,  were  I  to  suffer  such  a  life 
to  be  wrecked  by  this  religious  humbug.  What  is  the  use  of 
my  cool  brain,  if  I  lose  my  composure  now  f  Allans  done  ! 
I  will  bid  defiance  to  fate  and  to  every  prejudice,  clasp  her  in 
my  arms,  and  destroy  the  divine  farce!" 

Such  was  the  train  of  the  duke's  thoughts.  But  his  pale 
face  and  joyless  expression  betrayed  what  he  would  not  ac- 
knowledge to  himself:  that  his  happiness  was  shattered.  He 
gathered  up  the  fragments  and  tried  to  join  them  together — 
but  with  the  secret  grief  with  which  we  bear  home  some  loved 
one  who  could  not  be  witheld  from  a  dangerous  path,  know- 


294  ON   THE    CROSS. 

ing  that,  though  the  broken  limbs  may  be  healed,  he  can 
never  regain  his  former  strength. 

"  So  grave,  Duke  ?"  asked  a  voice  which  sent  the  blood  to 
his  heart.  The  countess  had  entered — her  step  unheard  on 
the  soft  carpet. 

He  started  up  :  "  Madeleine — my  poor  Madeleine  !  I 
was  thinking  of  you  and  your  fate  !" 

"  I  have  saddened  you  !"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  pen- 
itently. 

"  Oh,  no !"  he  drew  the  little  hands  down  to  his  lips,  and 
with  a  sorrowful  smile  kissed  them. 

"  My  cheerfulness  can  bear  some  strain — but  the  malapert 
must  be  permitted  to  be  silent  sometimes  when  there  are 
serious  matters  to  be  considered." 

"You  are  too  noble  to  let  me  feel  that  you  are  suffering. 
Yet  I  see  it — you  would  not  be  the  man  you  are  if  you  did 
not  suffer  to-day." 

The  duke  bit  his  lips,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  struggling  to 
repress  a  tear :  "  Pshaw — we  won't  be  sentimental !  You 
have  wept  enough  to-day!  The  world  must  not  see  tear- 
stains  on  your  face.  Give  me  a  cup  of  coffee — I  do  not  be- 
long to  the  chosen  few  whom  a  mental  emotion  raises  far 
above  all  the  needs  of  their  mortal  husk." 

The  countess  rang  for  breakfast. 

The  servant  brought  the  dishes  ordered  into  the  boudoir, 
as  the  dining-room  was  not  yet  thoroughly  heated.  In  the 
chimney-corner  beside  the  blazing  fire  the  coffee  was  already 
steaming  in  a  silver  urn  over  an  alcohol  lamp,  filling  the  cosy 
room  with  its  aroma  and  musical  humming. 

"  How  pleasant  this  is !"  said  the  duke,  throwing  himself 
into  an  armchair  beside  the  grave  mistress  of  the  house. 

"  I  will  pour  it  myself,"  she  said  to  the  servant  who  in- 
stantly withdrew.  The  countess  was  now  simply  dressed  in 
black,  without  an  ornament  of  any  kind,  and  with  her  hair 
confined  in  a  plain  knot. 

'  What  a  contrast !"  the  duke  remarked,  smiling — "  you 
alone  are  capable  of  such  metamorphoses.  Half  an  hour  ago 
in  a  court  costume,  glittering  with  diamonds,  an  aching  heart, 
and  hands  half  frozen  from  being  clasped  in  prayer  in  the 
chilled  church,  now  a  demure  little  housewife,  peacefully  watch- 


ATTEMPTS   TO    RESCUE.  295 

ing  the  coffee  steam  in  a  cosy  little  room,  waiting  intently  for 
the  moment  when  the  water  will  boil,  as  if  there  were  no  task 
in  the  whole  world  more  important  than  that  of  making  a 
good  decoction." 

A  faint  smile  glided  over  the  countess'  face — she  had 
nearly  allowed  the  important  moment  to  pass.  Now  she 
poured  out  the  coffee,  extinguished  the  spirit  lamp,  and 
handed  her  companion  a  cup  of  the  steaming  beverage. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  !  Ah,  that's  enough  to  brighten  the 
most  downcast  mood !  What  comfort !  Now  let  us  enjoy  an 
hour  of  innocent,  genuine  plebeian  happiness.  Ah — how  for- 
tunate the  people  are  who  live  so  every  day.  I  should  be  the 
very  man  to  enjoy  such  bMss  !"  His  glance  wandered  swiftly 
to  the  countess'  empty  cup.  "  Aha !  I  thought  so  !  A  great 
sorrow  must  of  course  be  observed  by  mortifying  the  body,  in 
order  to  be  sure  to  succumb  to  it.  Well,  then  the  guest  must 
do  the  honors  of  the  hostess  !  There,  now  ma  chere  Madeleine 
will  drink  this,  and  dip  this  buscuit  into  it !  One  can  accom- 
plish that,  even  without  an  appetite.  Who  would  wish  to 
make  heart  and  stomach  identical !" 

The  countess,  spite  of  her  protestations,  was  forced  to 
obey.  She  saw  that  the  duke  had  asked  for  breakfast  only  to 
compel  her  to  eat. 

"  There.  You  see  that  it  can  be  done.  I  enjoy  with  a 
touch  of  emotion  this  coffee  which  your  dear  hands  have  pre- 
pared. If  you  would  do  the  same  with  the  cup  I  poured  out 
what  a  sentimental  breakfast  it  would  be !"  A  ray  of  the  old 
cheerfulness  sparkled  in  the  duke's  eyes. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  that  with  you  alone  I  should  find  peace  and 
cheer !"  said  the  countess,  brightening. 

"  So  much  the  better."  The  duke  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
leaned  comfortably  back  in  his  chair. 

The  countess  ordered  the  coffee  equipage  to  be  removed 
and  then  sat  down  opposite  to  him  with  her  hands  clasped  in 
her  lap. 

"  The  main  point  now,  my  dear  Madeleine,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  speak  of  these  things  to  you,  is  to  release  you  from 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble — I  need  not  name  him.  Of  course 
I  do  not  know  how  easy  or  how  difficult  this  may  be,  because 
I  am  ignorant  how  far  you  are  involved  in  this  relation  and 


2$6  ON   THE   CROSS. 

unfortunately  lack  the  long  locks  of  the  Christ,  which  would 
enable  me  successfully  to  play  the  part  of  the  '  Good  Shep- 
herd,' who  freed  the  imprisoned  lamb  from  the  thicket." 

"  As  if  it  depended  on  that !"  said  the  countess. 

"  Not  at  all  ?  Oh,  women,  women !  What  will  not  a  few 
raven  locks  do?  The  destiny  of  your  lives  turns  upon  just 
such  trifles.  Imagine  that  Ammergau  Christus  with  close- 
cropped  hair  and  a  bristling  red  beard!  Would  that  mask 
have  suited  the  illusion  to  which  you  sacrificed  yourself? 
Hardly !" 

The  countess  made  no  reply,  silenced  by  the  pitiless 
truth,  but  at  last  she  thought  she  must  defend  herself.  "  And 
the  religious  impression,  the  elevation,  the  enthusiasm — the 
revelations  of  the  Passion  Play,  do  you  count  these  nothing  ?" 

"  Certainly  not !  I  felt  them  myself,  but,  believe  me,  you 
would  not  have  transferred  them  to  the  person,  if  the  repre- 
sentative of  Christ  had  worn  a  wig,  and  the  next  day  had  ap- 
peared before  you  with  stiff,  closely-cropped  red  hair." 

The  countess  made  a  gesture  of  aversion. 

"  There,  now  you  see  the  realist  again.  Yet,  say  what  you 
will,  a  few  locks  of  raven  hair  formed  the  net  in  which  the 
haughty,  clever  Countess  Wildenau  was  prisoned !" 

"  You  may  be  right,  the  greatest  picture  consists  of  details, 
and  may  be  spoiled  by  a  single  one.  I  will  confess  it — Yes ! 
The  harmony  of  the  whole  person,  down  to  the  most  trifling 
detail,  with  the  Christ  tradition,  enthralled  me,  and  had  the 
locks  been  wanting,  the  impression  would  not  have  been  com- 
plete. But,  however  I  may  have  been  deceived  in  the  image, 
I  cannot  let  myself  and  him  sink  so  low  in  your  opinion  as  to 
permit  you  to  believe  that  it  was  nothing  save  an  ensnaring 
outward  semblance  which  sealed  my  fate!  Had  not  his 
spiritual  nature  completed  the  illusion — matters  would  never 
have  gone  so  far." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  can  imagine  how  it  happened.  You  prompted 
the  part,  and  he  had  skill  enough  to  play  to  the  prompter,  as 
it  is  called  in  the  parlance  of  the  stage." 

"  '  Skill '  is  not  the  right  word,  he  was  influenced  precisely 
as  I  was." 

"Ah!  He  probably  would  not  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  re- 
fuse such  a  chance.  A  wealthy,  beautiful  woman — like  you — " 


ATTEMPTS    TO    RESCUE.  297 

"  No,  no,  do  not  speak  of  him  in  that  way.  I  cannot  let 
that  accusation  rest  upon  him.  He  is  not  base !  He  is  un- 
cultured, has  the  narrow-minded  views  of  a  peasant,  is  sensa- 
tive  and  capricious,  an  unfortunate  temperament,  with  which 
it  is  impossible  to  live  happily — but  I  know  no  one  in  the 
world,  to  whom  any  ignoble  thought  is  more  alien." 

The  prince  gazed  at  her  admiringly.  Tears  were  sparkling 
in  her  eyes.  '•  I  don't  deny  that  I  am  bitterly  dissappointed  in 
him — but  though  I  love  him  no  longer,  I  must  not  allow  him 
to  be  insulted.  He  loved  me  and  sacrificed  his  poor  life  for 
mine — that  the  compensation  did  not  outweigh  the  price  was 
no  fault  of  his,  and  I  ought  not  to  make  him  responsible  for  it." 

The  duke  became  very  thoughtful.  The  countess  was 
silent,  she  had  clasped  her  hands  on  her  knee,  and  was  gazing, 
deeply  moved,  into  vacancy. 

"You  are  a  noble  woman,  Madeleine!"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone.  "  I  always  ranked  you  high,  but  never  higher  than  at 
this  moment !  I  will  never  again  wound  your  feelings. 
But  however  worthy  of  esteem  Freyer  may  be,  deeply  as  I 
pity  the  unfortunate  man — you  are  my  first  consideration — 
and  you  cannot,  must  not  continue  in  this  relation.  Through- 
out the  whole  system  of  the  universe  the  lower  existence  must 
yield  to  the  higher.  You  are  the  higher — therefore  Freyer 
must  be  sacrificed!  You  are  a  philosopher — accept  the  re- 
sults of  your  view  of  the  world,  be  strong  and  resolve  to  do 
what  is  inevitable  quickly.  You  yourself  say  that  you  no 
longer  love  him — whether  you  have  ever  done  so,  I  will  not 
venture  to  decide  !  If  he  is  really  what  you  describe  him  to 
be,  he  must  feel  this  and — I  believe,  that  he,  too,  is  not  to  be 
envied.  What  kind  of  respite  is  this  which  you  are  granting 
the  hapless  man  under  the  sword  of  the  executioner.  Pardon 
me,  but  I  should  term  it  torture.  You  feign,  from  motives  of 
compassion,  feelings  you  no  longer  have,  and  he  feels  the  de- 
ception. So  he  is  continually  vibrating  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  fear  and  hope — a  prey  to  the  most  torturing  doubts. 
So  you  permit  the  victim  whom  you  wish  to  kill  to  live,  in 
order  to  destroy  him  slowly.  You  pity  him — and  for  pity 
are  cruel." 

The  countess  cast  a  startled  glance  at  him.  "  You  are 
terribly  truthful." 


298  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  I  must  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  that  man,"  the  duke  went 
on  in  his  usual  manner.  "  I  think  it  is  your  duty  to  end  this 
state  of  things.  If  he  has  a  good,  mentally  sound  character, 
he  will  conquer  the  blow  and  shape  his  life  anew.  But  such 
a  condition  of  uncertainty  would  unnerve  the  strongest  nature. 
This  cat  and  mouse  sport  is  unworthy  of  you !  You  tried  it 
with  me  ten  years  ago  in  a  less  painful  way — I,  knowing 
women,  was  equal  to  the  game,  so  no  harm  was  done,  and  1 
could  well  allow  you  the  graceful  little  pastime.  It  is  different 
with  Freyer.  A  man  of  his  stamp,  who  stakes  his  whole  life 
upon  a  single  feeling,  takes  the  matter  more  tragically,  and 
the  catastrophe  was  inevitable.  But  must  romance  be  carried 
to  tragedy  ?  See,  my  dear  friend,  that  it  is  confined  within  its 
proper  limits.  Besides,  you  have  already  paid  for  it  dearly 
enough — it  has  left  an  indelible  impress  upon  your  soul — 
borne  a  fruit  which  matured  in  suffering  and  you  have  buried 
with  anguish  because  destiny  itself,  though  with  astern  hand, 
tried  to  efface  the  consequences  of  your  error.  Heed  this  por- 
tent, for  your  sake  and  his  own!  I  speak  in  his  behalf  also. 
My  aim  is  not  only  to  win  you,  but  to  see  the  woman  whom  I 
have  won  worthy  of  herself  and  the  high  opinion  I  cherish  of 
her." 

The  countess'  features  betrayed  the  most  intense  emotion. 
What  should  she  do  ?  Should  she  tell  this  noble  man  all — 
confess  that  she  was  married.  The  hour  that  he  discovered 
it,  he  would  desert  her.  Must  she  lose  him,  her  last  support 
and  consolation  ?  No,  she  dared  not.  The  drowning  woman 
clung  to  him ;  she  knew  not  what  was  to  come  of  it — she  only 
knew  that  she  would  be  lost  without  him — and  kept  silence. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  In  the  old  hunting-box  of  which  your 
cousin  Wildenau  spoke  ?"  asked  the  duke  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Yes." 

"  As  what  ?" 

"  As  steward." 

"  Steward  ?     H'm  !" 

The  duke  shook  his  head.  "  What  a  relation ;  you  made 
the  man  you  loved  your  servant,  and  believed  that  you  could 
love  him  still  ?  How  little  you  knew  yourself!  Had  you 
seen  him  on  the  mountains  battling  with  wind  and  storm  as  a 
wood-cutter,  a  shepherd,  but  free,  you  might  have  continued 


ATTEMPTS  TO    RESCUE.  29$ 

to  love  him.  But  as  '  the  steward '  at  whom  the  servants  look 
with  one  eye  as  their  equal,  with  the  other  as  their  mistress' 
favorite — never!  You  placed  him  in  a  situation  where  he 
could  not  help  despising  himself — how  could  you  respect  him  ? 
But  a  woman  like  you  no  longer  loves  where  she  can  no 
longer  esteem !"  He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  with  sudden 
determination  exclaimed :  "  Do  you  understand  what  I  say 
now  ?  Not  free  yourself  from  him— but  free  him  from  him- 
self!  You  have  done  the  same  thing  as  the  giantess  who 
carried  the  farmer  and  his  plough  home  in  her  apron.  Do 
you  understand  what  a  deep  meaning  underlies  Chamisso's 
comical  tale  ?  The  words  with  which  the  old  giant  ordered 
her  to  take  her  prize  back  to  the  spot  where  she  found  it,  say 
everything:  'The  peasant  is  no  plaything.'  Only  in  the 
sphere  where  a  man  naturally  belongs  is  he  of  value,  but  this 
renders  him  too  good  for  a  toy.  You  have  transplanted 
Freyer  to  a  sphere  in  which  he  ceased  to  have  any  value  to 
you  and  are  now  making  him  play  a  part  there  which  I  would 
not  impose  on  my  worst  enemy." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right." 

"  Finally  we  owe  it  to  those  who  were  once  dear  to  us,  not 
to  make  them  ridiculous  !  Or  do  you  believe  that  Freyer,  if 
he  had  the  choice,  would  not  have  pride  enough  to  prefer  the 
most  cruel  truth  to  a  compassionate  lie  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  still  more.  We  owe  it  to  the  law  of  truthfulness, 
under  which  we  stand  as  moral  beings,  not  to  continue  delib- 
erately a  deception  which  was  perhaps  unconsciously  begun. 
When  self-respect  is  lost — all  is  lost." 

The  duke  rose  :  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  go.  Consider  my 
advice,  I  can  say  nothing  more  in  your  interest  and  his." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do — how  am  I  to  find  a  gentle  way — 
oh !  Heaven,  I  don't  know  how  to  help  myself." 

"  Do  nothing  at  present,  everything  is  still  too  fresh  to 
venture  upon  any  positive  act — the  wounds  would  bleed,  and 
what  ought  to  be  severed  would  only  grow  together  the  more 
firmly.  Go  away  for  a  lime.  You  are  out  of  favor  with  the 
queen.  What  is  more  natural  than  to  go  on  a  journey  and 
sulk.  To  the  so-called  steward  also,  this  must  at  present 
serve  for  a  pretext  to  avoid  a  tragical  parting  scene." 


300  ON    THE    CROSS. 

"  Go  now !  Now  ! — leave — you  ?"  she  whispered,  blush- 
ing as  she  spoke. 

"  Madeleine,"  he  said  gently,  drawing  her  hand  to  his 
breast.  "  How  am  I  to  interpret  this  blush  ?  Is  it  the  sign 
of  a  sweeter  feeling,  or  embarrassment  because  circumstances 
have  led  you  to  say  something  which  I  might  interpret  differ- 
ently from  your  intention  ?" 

She  bent  her  head,  blushing  still  more  deeply. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  yourself — I  will  not  torture 
you  with  questions,  which  your  agitated  heart  cannot  answer 
now.  But  if  anything  really  does  bind  you  to  me,  then — I 
would  suggest  your  joining  my  father  at  Cannes.  If  even  the 
faintest  feeling  of  affection  for  me  is  stirring  within  you,  you 
will  understand  that  we  could  never  be  nearer  to  each  other 
than  while  you  were  learning  to  be  my  old  father's  daughter ! 
Will  you  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  she  whispered  with  rising  tears,  for  ever  more  beau- 
tiful, ever  purer  rose  before  her  a  happiness  which  she  had  for- 
feited, of  which  she  would  no  longer  be  worthy,  even  could 
she  grasp  it. 

The  duke,  usually  so  sharp-sighted,  could  not  guess  the 
source  of  these  tears ;  for  the  first  time  he  was  deceived  and 
interpreted  favorably  an  emotion  aroused  by  the  despairing 
perception  that  all  was  vain. 

He  gazed  down  at  her  with  a  ray  of  love  shining  in  his 
clear  blue  eyes,  and  pressed  a  kiss  on  her  drooping  brow. 
Then  raising  his  hand,  he  pointed  upward.  "  Only  have 
courage,  and  hold  your  head  high.  All  will  yet  be  well. 
Adieu !" 

He  moved  away  as  proudly,  calmly  and  firmly  as  if  suc- 
cess was  assured ;  he  did  not  suspect  that  he  was  leaving  a 
lost  cause. 


DAY    IS    DAWNING.  301- 

CHAPTER  XXV. 


DAY   IS    DAWNING. 

IN  the  quiet  chamber  in  the  ancient  hunting-castle,  on  the 
spot  formerly  occupied  by  the  little  bed,  a  casket  now  stood 
on  two  chairs  near  a  wooden  crucifix. 

Freyer  had  returned,  bringing  the  body  of  his  child.  He 
had  telegraphed  to  the  countess,  but  received  in  reply  only  a 
few  lines :  "  She  was  compelled  to  set  off  on  a  journey  at 
once,  her  mind  was  so  much  affected  that  her  physician  had 
advised  immediate  change  of  scene  to  avert  worse  conse- 
quences." 

A  check  was  enclosed  to  defray  the  funeral  expenses  and 
bestow  a  sum  on  Josepha  "  as  a  recognition  of  her  faithful 
service,"  sufficient  to  enable  her  to  live  comfortably  in  case 
she  wished  to  rest.  Josepha  understood  that  this  was  a 
gracious  form  of  dismissal.  But  the  royal  gift  which  expressed 
the  countess'  gratitude  did  not  avail  to  subdue  the  terrible 
rancor  in  her  soul,  or  the  harshness  of  this  dismissal. 

Morning  was  dawning.  Josepha  was  changed  by  illness 
almost  beyond  recognition,  yet  she  had  watched  through  the 
night  with  Freyer  beside  the  coffin.  Now  she  again  glanced 
over  the  letter  which  had  come  the  evening  before.  "  She 
doesn't  venture  to  send  me  away  openly,  and  wants  to  satisfy 
me  with  money,  that  I  may  go  willingly.  Money,  always 
money !  I  was  forced  to  give  up  the  child,  and  now  I  must 
lose  you,  too,  the  last  thing  I  have  in  the  world  ?"  she  said  to 
Freyer,  who  was  sitting  silently  beside  the  coffin  of  his  son. 
Tearing  the  cheque,  she  threw  it  on  the  floor.  "  There  are  the 
fragments.  When  the  child  is  buried,  I  know  where  I  shall 
go." 

"You  will  not  leave  here,  Josepha,  as  long  as  I  remain. 
Especially  now  that  you  are  ill.  I  have  been  her  servant  long 
enough.  But  this  is  the  limit  where  I  cease  to  yield  to  her 
caprices.  She  cannot  ask  me  to  give  you  up  also,  my  relative, 
the  only  soul  in  my  boundless  solitude.  If  she  did,  I  would 
not  do  it,  for — no  matter  how  lowly  my  birth,  I  am  still  her 
husband  ;  have  I  no  rights  whatever  ?  You  will  stay  with  me, 
I  desire  it,  and  can  do  so  the  more  positively  as  my  salary  is 


3O2  ON    THE    CROSS. 

sufficient  to  support  you.  So  you  need  accept  no  wages  from 
her." 

"  Yes,  tell  her  so,  say  that  I  want  nothing — nothing  except 
to  stay  with  you,  near  my  angel's  grave."  Sobs  stifled  her 
words.  After  a  time,  she  continued  faintly :  "  I  shall  not 
trouble  her  long,  you  can  see  that." 

"  Oh,  Josepha,  don't  fancy  such  things.  You  are  young 
and  will  recover !"  said  Freyer  consolingly,  but  his  eyes  rested 
anxiously  upon  her. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  The  child  was  younger  still,  yet 
he  died  of  longing  for  his  mother,  and  I  shall  die  of  the  yearn- 
ing for  him." 

"  Then  let  me  send  for  a  doctor — you  cannot  go  on  in 
this  way." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  make  any  useless  ado — it  would  only  be 
one  person  more  to  question  me  about  the  child,  and  I  shali 
be  on  thorns  while  I  am  deceiving  him.  You  know  I  never 
could  lie  in  my  life.  Leave  me  in  peace,  no  doctor  can  help 
me." 

Some  one  rang.  Josepha  opened  the  door.  The  cabinet- 
maker was  bringing  in  a  little  coffin,  which  was  to  take  the 
place  of  the  box  containing  the  leaden  casket.  Her  black 
dress  and  haggard  face  gave  her  the  semblance  of  a  mother 
mourning  her  own  child.  Nothing  was  said  during  the  per- 
formance of  the  work.  Josepha  and  Freyer  lifted  the  metal 
casket  from  the  chest  and  placed  it  in  the  plain  oak  coffin. 
The  man  was  paid  and  left  the  room.  Freyer  hastened  out 
and  shook  the  snow  from  some  pine  branches  to  adorn  the 
bier.  A  few  icicles  which  still  clung  to  them  thawed  in  the 
warm  room,  and  the  drops  fell  on  the  coffin — the  tears  of  the 
forest !  The  last  scion  of  the  princely  House  of  Prankenberg 
lay  under  frost-covered  pine  boughs ;  and  a  peasant  mourned 
him  as  his  son,  a  maid  servant  prepared  him  for  his  eternal 
rest.  This  is  the  bloodless  revolution  sometimes  accomplished 
amid  the  ossified  traditions  of  rank,  which  affords  the  insulted 
idea  of  universal  human  rights  moments  of  loving  satisfaction. 

The  two  mourners  were  calm  and  quiet.  They  seemed  to 
have  a  premonition  that  this  moment  possessed  a  significance 
which  raised  it  far  above  personal  grief. 

An   hour  later  the  pastor  came — a  few  men  and  maick 


DAY    IS    DAWNING.  303 

servants  formed  the  funeral  procession.  Not  far  from  the 
castle,  in  the  wood,  stood  a  ruinous  old  chapel.  The  coun- 
tess had  permitted  the  child  to  be  buried  there  because  the 
churchyard  was  several  leagues  away.  "  It  is  a  great  deal  of 
honor  for  Josepha's  child  to  be  placed  in  the  chapel  of  a 
noble  family  !"  thought  the  people.  "  If  haughty  old  Count 
Wildenau  knew  it,  he  would  turn  in  his  grave  !"  The  coffin 
was  raised  and  borne  out  of  the  castle.  Josepha,  leaning  on 
Freyer,  followed  silently  with  fixed,  tearless  eyes  and  burning 
cheeks.  Yet  she  succeeded  in  wading  through  the  snow  and 
standing  on  the  cold  stone  floor  in  the  chilly  chapel  beside  the 
grave.  But  when  she  returned  home,  the  measure  of  her 
strength  was  exhausted.  Her  laboring  lungs  panted  for 
breath;  her  icy  feet  could  not  be  warmed;  her  heart,  throb- 
bing painfully,  sent  all  the  blood  to  her  brain,  which  burned 
with  fever,  while  her  thoughts  grew  confused.  The  terrible 
chill  completed  the  work  of  destruction  commenced  by  grief. 
Freyer  saw  it  with  unutterable  sorrow. 

"  I  must  get  a  doctor !"  he  said  gently.  "  Come,  Josepha, 
don't  stare  steadily  at  the  empty  space  where  the  body  lay. 
Come,  I  will  take  you  to  my  room  and  put  you  on  the  bed. 
Everything  there  will  not  remind  you  of  the  boy." 

"  No,  I  will  stay  here,"  she  said,  with  that  cruelty  to  her- 
self, peculiar  to  sick  persons  who  do  not  fear  death.  "  Just 
here !"  She  clung  to  the  uncomfortable  sofa  on  which  she  sat 
as  if  afraid  of  being  dragged  away  by  force. 

Freyer  hastily  removed  the  chairs  which  had  supported 
the  coffin,  the  crucifix,  and  the  candles. 

"  Yes,  put  them  out,  you  will  soon  need  them  for  me. 
Oh,  you  kind-hearted  man.  If  only  you  could  have  the  hap- 
piness you  deserve.  You  merited  a  better  fate.  Ah,  I  will  not 
speak  of  what  she  has  done  to  me,  but  her  sins  against  you 
and  the  child  nothing  can  efface — nothing  !"  A  fit  of  cough- 
ing almost  stifled  her.  But  it  seemed  as  if  her  eyes  continued 
to  utter  the  words  she  had  not  breath  to  speak,  a  feverish 
vengeance  gliltered  in  their  depths  which  made  Freyer  fairly 
shudder. 

"  Josepha,"  he  said  mildly,  but  firmly.  "  Sacrifice  your 
hate  to  God,  and  be  merciful.  If  you  love  me,  you  must  for- 
give her  whom  I  love  and  forgive.'.' 


304  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  Never !"  gasped  Josepha  with  a  violent  effort.  "  Joseph 
— oh !  this  pain  in  my  chest — I  believe  it  is  inflammation  of  the 
lungs !" 

"  Alas  ! — and  there  is  no  one  to  send  for  the  doctor.  The 
men  are  all  in  the  woods.  Go  to  bed,  I  beg  you,  there  is  not 
a  moment  to  be  lost,  I  must  get  the  doctor  myself.  I  will 
send  the  house-maid  to  you.  Keep  up  your  courage,  I  will 
be  as  quick  as  I  can  !" 

And  he  hurried  off,  forgetting  his  grief  for  his  child  in  his 
anxiety  about  the  last  companion  of  his  impoverished  life. 

The  house-maid  came  in  and  asked  if  she  could  do  any- 
thing, but  Josepha  wanted  no  assistance.  The  anxious  girl 
tried  to  persuade  her  to  go  to  bed,  but  Josepha  said  that  she 
could  not  breathe  lying  down.  At  last  she  consented  to  eat 
something.  The  nourishment  did  her  good,  her  weakness 
diminished  and  her  breathing  grew  easier.  The  girl  put 
some  wood  in  the  stove  and  returned  to  her  work  in  the 
kitchen.  Josepha  remained  lost  in  thought.  To  her,  death 
was  deliverance — but  Freyer,  what  would  become  of  him  if  he 
lost  her  also  ?  This  alone  rendered  it  hard  to  die.  The 
damp  wood  in  the  stove  sputtered  and  hissed  like  the  voices 
of  wrangling  women.  It  was  the  "  fire  witch,"  which  always 
proclaims  the  approach  of  any  evil.  Josepha  shook  her  head. 
What  could  be  worse  than  the  evil  which  had  already  befallen 
her  poor  cousin  and  herself?  The  fire  witch  continued  to 
shriek  and  lament,  but  Josepha  did  not  understand  her.  A 
pan*  of  crows  perched  in  an  old  pine  tree  outside  the  window 
croaked  so  suddenly  that  she  started  in  terror. 

Ah,  it  was  very  lonely  up  here  !  What  would  it  be  when 
Freyer  lived  all  alone  in  the  house  and  waited  months  in  vain 
for  the  heartless  woman  who  remembered  neither  her  husband 
nor  her  child  ?  She  had  not  troubled  herself  about  the  living, 
why  should  she  seek  the  little  grave  where  lay  the  dead? 

A  loud  knock  on  the  door  of  the  house  echoed  through 
the  silence. 

Josepha  listened.  Surely  it  could  not  be  the  doctoral- 
ready  ? 

The  maid  opened  it.  Heavy  footsteps  and  the  voices  of 
men  were  heard  in  the  entry,  then  a  dog  howled.  The  stupid 
servant  opened  the  door  of  the  room  and  called  :  "  Jungfer 


DAY    IS    DAWNING.  305 

Josepha,  here  are'two  hunters,  who  are  so  tired  tramping  over 
the  snow  that  they  would  like  to  rest  awhile.  Can  they  come 
in  ?  There  is  no  fire  anywhere  else !" 

Josepha,  though  so  ill,  of  course  could  not  refuse  admit- 
tance to  the  freezing  men,  who  were  already  on  the  threshold. 
Rising  with  an  effort  from  the  sofa,  she  pushed  some  chairs 
for  the  strangers  near  the  stove.  "  I  am  ill,"  she  said  in  great 
embarrassment — •'  but  if  you  wish  to  rest  and  warm  yourselves 
here,  I  beg — " 

"  We  are  very  grateful,"  said  one  of  the  hunters,  a  gentle- 
man with  a  red  moustache  and  piercing  eyes.  "  If  we  do  not 
disturb  you,  we  will  gladly  accept  your  hospitality.  We  are 
not  familiar  with  the  neighborhood  and  have  lost  our  way. 
We  came  from  beyond  the  frontier  and  have  been  wading 
through  the  snow  five  hours." 

Meanwhile,  at  a  sign  from  Josepha,  the  'maid-servant  had 
taken  the  gentlemen's  cloaks  and  hunting  gear. 

"  See,  this  is  our  booty,"  said  the  other  hunter.  "  If  we 
might  invite  you  to  dine  with  us,  I  should  almost  venture  to 
ask  if  this  worthy  lass  could  not  roast  the  hare  for  us  ?  Our 
cousin,  Countess  Wildenau,  will  surely  forgive  us  this  little 
trespass  upon  her  preserves." 

"  Are  you  relatives  of  Countess  Wildenau  ?" 

"  Certainly,  her  nearest  and  most  faithful  ones !" 

Josepha,  in  her  mortal  weakness  felt  as  if  crushed  by  the 
presence  of  these  strangers — with  their  heavy  hunting-boots 
and  loud  voices.  She  tried  to  take  refuge  in  the  kitchen  on 
the  pretense  of  roasting  the  hare  herself.  But  both  gentlemen 
earnestly  protested  against  it. 

"  No,  indeed,  that  would  be  fine  business  to  drive  you  out 
of  your  room  when  you  are  ill !  In  that  case,  we  must  leave 
the  house  at  once." 

The  red-bearded  gentleman — Cousin  Wildenau  himself — 
sprang  from  his  chair  and  almost  forced  Josepha  to  go  back 
to  her  sofa. 

"  There,  my  dear — madam — or  miss  ?  Now  do  me  the 
honor  to  take  your  seat  again  and  allow  us  to  remain  a  short 
time  until  the  roast  is  ready,  then  you  must  dine  with  us." 

A  faint  smile  hovered  around  Josepha's  parched  lips.  "  I 
thank  you,  but  I  am  too  ill  to  eat." 


306  ON   THE    CROSS. 

"  You  are  really  very  ill  " — said  the  stranger  with  kindly 
solicitude.  "You  are  feverish.  I  fear  we  are  disturbing  you 
very  much.  Pray  send  us  away  if  we  annoy  you."  Yet  he 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  could  not  help  asking  the  unbid- 
den guests  to  stay. 

"  But  my  dear — madam — or  miss  ?" — Josepha  never  an- 
swered the  question — "  are  you  doing  nothing  to  relieve  your 
illness,  have  you  had  no  physician  ?" 

"  No  we  are  in  such  a  secluded  place,  a  physician  cannot 
always  be  had.  But  I  am  expecting  one  to-day." 

"  vVhy,  it  is  strange  to  live  in  this  wilderness.  And  how 
uncomfortable  you  are,  you  haven't  even  a  stool,"  said  the  red- 
haired  cousin  putting  his  huge  hunting-muff,  after  warming  it 
at  the  stove,  under  her  feet. 

Josepha  tried  to  refuse  it,  but  he  would  not  listen. 

"  You  need  not  mind  us,  we  are  sick  nurses  ourselves,  we 
commanded  a  sanitary  battalion  in  the  war.  So  we  under- 
stand a  little  what  to  do.  You  are  suffering  from  asthma,  it  is 
difficult  for  you  to  breathe,  so  you  must  sit  comfortably. 
There !  Now  put  my  cousin's  muff  at  your  back.  That's 
better,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  But  pray—" 

"  Come,  come,  come — no  contradiction.  You  must  be 
comfortable." 

Josepha  was  ashamed.  The  gentlemen  were  so  kind,  so 
solicitous  about  her — there  were  good  people  in  the  world ! 
The  neglected,  desolate  heart  gratefully  appreciated  the  un- 
usual kindness. 

"  But  I  am  really  astonished  to  find  everything  so  primi- 
tive. Our  honored  cousin  really  ought  to  have  done  some- 
thing more  for  your  comfort.  Not  even  a  sofa-cushion,  no 
carpet !  I  should  have  thought  she  would  have  paid  more  at- 
tention to  so  faithful  a — "  he  courteously  suppressed  the  word 
"  servant  " — and  correcting  himself,  said  :  "  assistant !" 

Josepha  made  no  answer,  but  her  lips  curled  bitterly, 
significantly. 

Wildenau  noted  it.  "  Dissatisfied !"  escaped  his  lips,  so 
low  that  only  his  companion  heard  it. 

"  You  have  been  here  a  long  time,  I  suppose — how  many 
years  ? 


DAY   IS   DAWNING.  307 

"  Have  I  been  with  her  ?"  said  Josepha  frankly.  "  Since 
the  last  Passion  Play.  That  will  be  ten  years  next  summer." 
"Ah — true — you  are  a  native  of  Ammergau!"  said  the 
baron,  with  the  manner  of  one  familiar  with  the  facts,  whose 
memory  has  failed  for  an  instant.  "  I  suppose  you  came  to 
the  countess  at  the  same  time  as  the  Christus  ?" 
Yes." 

'  Is  he  a  relative  of  yours  ?" 
'  Yes,  my  cousin." 
<  He  is  here  still,  isn't  he  ?" 
'  Why,  of  course." 
'  He  is — her — what  is  his  title  ?" 
Steward." 
Is  he  at  home  ?" 
'  No,  he  has  gone  to  the  city  for  a  doctor." 
'  Oh,  I  am  very  sorry.     We  should  have  been  glad  to 
make  his  acquaintance.     We  have  heard  so  many  pleasant 
things  about  him.     A  man  in  whom  our  cousin  was  so  much 
interested — " 

"  Then  she  speaks  of  him  ?" 

"  Oh — to  her  intimate  friends — certainly !"  said  Wildenau 
equivocally  gazing  intently  at  Josepha,  whose  face  beamed 
with  joy  at  the  thought  that  the  countess  spoke  kindly  of 
Freyer. 

"  Why  is  he  never  seen  in  the  city  ?  He  must  live  like  a 
hermit  up  here." 

"  Yes,  Heaven  knows  that." 

"  He  ought  to  visit  my  cousin  sometimes  in  the  city,  every- 
body would  be  glad  to  know  the  Ammergau  Christus." 

"  But  if  she  doesn't  wish  it — !"  said  Josepha  thoughtlessly. 
"  Why,  that  would  be  another  matter  certainly,  but  she  has 
never  told  me  so.     Why  shouldn't  she  wish  it  ?"  murmured 
Wildenau  with  well-feigned  surprise. 
"  Because  she  is  ashamed  of  him !" 

"  Ah !"  Wildenau  almost  caught  his  breath  at  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  word.  "  But,  tell  me,  why  does  Herr  Freyer — 
isn't  that  his  name — submit  to  it  ?" 

Josepha  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Yes,  what  can  he  do 
about  it  ?" 


30S  ON  THE   CROSS. 

A  pause  ensued.  Josepha  stopped,  as  if  fearing  to  say  too 
much.  The  two  gentlemen  had  become  very  thoughtful. 

At  last  Wildenau  resumed  the  conversation.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand how  a  man  who  surely  might  find  a  pleasant  position 
anywhere,  can  be  so  dependent  on  a  fine  lady's  whims.  You 
won't  take  it  amiss,  I  see  that  your  kinsman's  position  troubles 
you — were  I  in  his  place  I  would  give  up  the  largest  salary 
rather  than — " 

"Salary?"  interrupted  Josepha,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  Do 
you  suppose  that  my  cousin  would  do  anything  for  the  sake 
of  a  salary  ?  Oh,  you  don't  know  him.  If  the  countess  de- 
scribed him  to  you  in  that  way,  the  shame  is  hers  !" 

Wildenau  listened  intently.  "  But,  my  dear  woman,  that 
isn't  what  I  meant,  you  would  not  let  me  finish !  I  was  just 
going  to  add  that  such  a  motive  would  not  affect  your  kins- 
man, that  it  could  be  nothing  but  sincere  devotion,  which 
bound  him  to  our  cousin — a  loyalty  which  apparently  wins 
little  gratitude." 

"  Yes,  I  always  tell  him  so — but  he  won't  admit  it — even 
though  his  heart  should  break." 

Two  dark  interlaced  veins  in  Josepha's  sunken,  transparent 
temples  throbbed  feverishly. 

"  But — how  do  you  feel  ?  We  are  certainly  disturbing  you !" 
said  the  baron. 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  does  not  matter !"  replied  Josepha,  courte- 
ously. 

"  Could  you  not  take  us  into  some  other  room — the  coun- 
tess doubtless  comes  here  constantly — there  must  be  other 
apartments  which  can  be  heated." 

"  Yes,  but  no  fire  has  been  made  in  them  for  weeks ;  the 
stoves  will  smoke." 

"  Has  not  the  countess  been  here  for  so  long  ?" 

"  No,  she  scarcely  ever  comes  now." 

"  But  the  time  must  be  very  long  to  you  and  your  cousin 
— you  were  doubtless  accustomed  to  the  countess'  visits." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Josepha,  lost  in  thought — "when  I 
think  how  it  used  to  be — and  how  things  are  now  !" 

Wildenau  glanced  around  the  room,  then  said  softly : 
"  And  the  little  son — he  is  dead." 

Josepha  stared  at  him  in  terror.     "  Do  you  know  that  ?" 


DAY    IS    DAWNING. 


3°9 


"  I  know  all.  My  cousin  has  his  picture  in  her  boudoir,  a 
splendid  child." 

Josepha's  poor  feverish  brain  was  growing  more  and  more 
confused.  The  tears  she  had  scarcely  conquered  flowed  again. 
"  Yes,  wasn't  he — and  to  let  such  a  child  die  without  troubling 
herself  about  him !" 

"  It  is  inexcusable  "  said  Wildenau. 

"  If  the  countess  ever  speaks  of  it  again,  tell  her  that 
Josepha  loved  it  far  more  than  she,  for  she  followed  it  to  the 
grave  while  the  mother  enjoyed  her  life — she  must  be  ashamed 
then." 

"  I  will  tell  her.  It  is  a  pity  about  the  beautiful  child — 
was  it  not  like  an  Infant  Christ  ?" 

"  Indeed  it  was — and  now  I  know  what  picture  you  mean. 
In  Jerusalem,  where  the  child  was  christened,  a  copy  as  they 
called  it  of  the  Infant  Christ  hung  in  the  chapel  over  the  bap- 
tismal font.  The  countess  afterwards  bought  the  picture  on 
account  of  its  resemblance  to  the  boy." 

"  I  suppose  it  resembles  Herr  Freyer,  too  ?"  the  baron  re- 
marked carelessly. 

"  Somewhat,  but  the  mother  more  !" 

Baron  Wildenau  began  to  find  the  room  too  warm — and 
went  to  the  window  a  moment  to  get  the  air,  while  his  com- 
panion, horrified  by  these  disclosures,  shook  his  head.  He 
would  gladly  have  told  the  deluded  woman  that  they  had  only 
learned  the  child's  death  from  a  wood-cutter  whom  they  met 
in  the  forest — but  he  dared  not "  contradict  "  his  cousin.  After  a 
pause,  Wildenau  again  turned  to  Josepha.  He  saw  that  there 
was  danger  in  delay,  for  at  any  moment  the  fever  might  in- 
crease to  such  a  degree  that  she  would  begin  to  rave  and  no 
longer  be  capable  of  making  a  deposition :  The  truth  must  be 
discovered,  now  or  never !  He  felt,  however,  that  Josepha's 
was  no  base  nature  which  could  be  led  to  betray  her  employer 
by  ordinary  means.  Caution  and  reflection  were  necessary. 

"  I  am  really  touched  by  your  fidelity  to  my  cousin.  Any 
one  who  can  claim  such  a  nature  is  fortunate.  I  thank  you 
in  her  name." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  But  she  replied  with  her  usual 
blunt  honesty :  "  I  don't  deserve  your  thanks,  sir.  I  have 
not  remained  here  for  the  sake  of  the  countess,  but  on  account 


310  ON  THE   CROSS. 

of  the  child  and  my  unfortunate  cousin.  She  has  been  kind 
to  me — but — if  I  should  see  her  to-day ;  I  would  tell  her 
openly  that  I  would  never  forgive  her  treatment  of  the  child 
and  Joseph — no  matter  what  she  did.  The  child  is  dead  and 
my  cousin  will  die  too.  Thank  Heaven,  I  shall  not  live  to 
witness  it." 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly — oh,  I  know  my  cousin. 
And — my  poor  dear  Fraulein  Josepha — I  may  call  you  Frau- 
lein  now,  may  I  not,  since  you  are  no  longer  obliged  to  pass 
for  the  child's  mother  ? — it  was  an  unprecedented  sacrifice  for 
you — !  Alas  !  My  dear  Fraulein,  you  and  your  cousin  must 
be  prepared  to  fare  still  worse,  to  be  entirely  forgotten,  for  I 
can  positively  assure  you  that  the  countess  is  about  to  wed 
the  Hereditary  Prince  of  Metten-Barnheim." 

"  What  ?"  Josepha  shrieked  loudly. 

Wildenau  watched  her  intently. 

"  She  has  just  gone  to  Cannes,  where  the  old  duke  is  stay- 
ing, and  the  announcement  of  the  engagement  is  daily  ex- 
pected." 

"  It  is  impossible — it  cannot  be !"  murmured  Josepha, 
trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  But  why  not  ?  She  is  free — has  a  right  to  dispose  of  her 
hand — "  Wildenau  persisted. 

"  No — she  is  not — shecannot  marry,"  cried  Josepha,  starting 
from  her  sofa  in  despair  and  standing  before  them  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  red  hair  like  a  flame  which  blazes  up  once  more  be- 
fore expiring.  "  For  Heaven's  sake — it  would  be  a  crime!" 
But  who  is  to  prevent  it  ?"  asked  Wildenau  breathlessly. 
I !"  groaned  Josepha,  summoning  her  last  strength. 

'  You  ? — My  dear  woman,  what  can  you  do  ?" 

'  More  than  you  suppose !" 

'  Then  tell  me,  that  we  may  unite  to  prevent  the  crime  ere 
it  is  too  late." 

"  Yes,  by  Heaven  !  Before  I  will  allow  her  to  do  Joseph 
this  wrong — I  will  turn  traitor  to  her." 

"  But  Herr  Freyer  has  no  right  to  ask  the  countess  not  to 
marry  again — '' 

"  No  right  ?"  she  repeated  with  terrible  earnestness,  "  are 
you  so  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  He  is  only  the  countess'  lover — " 


DAY   IS   DAWNING.  311 

"  Her  lover  ?"  sobbed  Josepha  in  mingled  wrath  and  an- 
guish :  "  Joseph,  you  noble  upright  man — must  this  be  said  of 
you—!" 

"  I  don't  understand.     If  he  is  not  her  lover — what  is  he  ?" 

Josepha  could  bear  no  more.  "  He  is  her  husband — her 
legally  wedded  husband." 

The  baron  almost  staggered  under  this  unexpected,  un- 
precedented revelation.  Controlling  himself  with  difficulty, 
he  seized  the  sick  woman's  hand,  as  if  to  sustain  her  lest  she 
should  break  down,  ere  he  had  extorted  the  last  disclosure 
from  her — the  last  thing  he  must  know.  "  Only  tell  me  where 
and  by  whom  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performed." 

As  if  under  the  gaze  of  a  serpent  the  victim  yielded  to  the 
stronger  will :  "  At  Prankenburg — Martin  and  I — were  wit- 
nesses." She  slipped  from  his  hand,  her  senses  grew  confused, 
her  eyes  became  glassy,  her  chest  heaved  convulsively  in  the 
struggle  for  breath,  but  the  one  word  which  she  still  had  con- 
sciousness to  utter — was  enough  for  the  Wildenaus. 

When,  a  few  hours  later,  Freyer  returned  with  the  physi- 
cian and  the  priest,  whom  he  had  thoughtfully  brought  with 
him,  he  found  Josepha  alone  on  the  sofa,  speechless,  and  in 
the  last  agonies  of  death. 

The  physician,  after  examining  her,  said  that  an  acute  in- 
flammation of  the  lungs  had  followed  the  tuberculosis  from 
which  she  had  long  suffered  and  hastened  her  end.  The 
priest  gave  her  the  last  sacrament  and  remained  with  Freyer, 
sitting  beside  the  bed  in  which  she  had  been  laid.  The  death- 
struggle  was  terrible.  She  seemed  to  be  constantly  trying  to 
tell  Freyer  something  which  she  was  unable  to  utter.  Three 
times  life  appeared  to  have  departed,  and  three  times  she 
rallied  again,  as  if  she  could  not  die  without  having  relieved 
her  heart  of  its  burden.  Vain  !  It  was  useless  for  Freyer  to 
put  his  ear  to  her  lips,  he  could  not  understand  her  faltering 
words.  It  was  a  terrible  night !  At  last,  toward  morning,  she 
grew  calm,  and  now  she  could  die.  Leaning  on  his  breast, 
she  ceased  her  struggles  to  speak,  and  slowly  breathed  her 
last.  She  had  conquered  and  she  now  knew  that  he  would 
conquer  also.  She  bowed  her  head  with  a  smile,  and  her  last 
glance  was  fixed  on  him,  a  look  of  reconciliation  rested  on  her 
features — her  soul  soared  upward — day  was  dawning ! 


312  ON   THE    CROSS. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE    LAST    SUPPORT. 

THERE  was  alarm  in  the  Wildenau  Palace.  The  countess 
had  suddenly  returned,  without  notifying  the  servants — in 
plain  words,  without  asking  the  servants'  permission.  She  had 
intended  to  remain  absent  several  months — they  were  not  pre- 
pared, had  nothing  ready,  nothing  cleaned,  not  even  a  single 
room  in  her  suite  of  apartments  heated. 

She  seemed  absent-minded,  went  to  her  rooms  at  once, 
and  locked  herself  in.  Then  her  bell  rang  violently — the  ser- 
vants who  were  consulting  together  below  scattered,  the  maids 
darted  up  the  main  staircase,  the  men  up  a  side  flight. 

"  I  want  the  coachman,  Martin !"  was  the  unexpected 
order. 

"  Martin  isn't  here,"  the  footman  ventured  to  answer — "  as 
we  did  not  know  .  .  .  ." 

"  Then  send  for  him !"  replied  the  countess  imperiously. 
She  did  not  appear  even  to  notice  the  implied  reproof.  Then 
she  permitted  the  attendant  to  make  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  for 
it  was  a  raw,  damp  day  in  early  spring,  and  after  her  stay  in 
Cannes,  the  weather  seemed  like  Siberia. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed.  Meanwhile  the  maids  were  un- 
packing, and  the  countess  was  arranging  a  quantity  of  letters 
she  had  brought  with  her.  They  were  all  numbered,  and  of 
ancient  date.  Among  them  was  one  from  Freyer,  written 
four  weeks  previously,  containing  only  the  words : 

"  Even  in  death,  Josepha  has  filled  a  mother's  place  to  our 
child — she  has  rested  in  the  chapel  with  him  since  this  morn- 
ing. I  think  you  will  not  object  to  her  being  buried  there. 

JOSEPH." 

The  countess  again  glanced  at  the  letter,  her  eyes  rested 
on  the  errors  in  orthography.  Such  tragical  information,  with 
so  terrible  a  reproach  between  the  lines — and  the  effect — a 
ludicrous  one !  She  would  gladly  have  effaced  the  mistakes  in 
order  not  to  be  ashamed  of  having  given  this  man  so  impor- 
tant a  part  in  the  drama  of  her  life — but  they  stood  there  with 
the  distinctness  of  a  boy's  unpractised  hand.  A  man  who 
could  not  even  write  correctly !  She  had  not  noticed  it  before, 


THE    LAST    SUPPORT.  313 

he  wrote  rarely  and  always  very  briefly — or  had  she  possessed 
no  eyes  for  his  faults  at  that  time  ?  Yes,  she  must  have  been 
blind,  utterly  blind.  She  had  not  answered  the  letter.  Now 
she  tore  it  up  and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  Josepha's  death 
would  have  been  a  deliverance  to  her,  had  she  not  a  few 
weeks  later  received  another  letter  which  she  now  read  once 
more,  panting  for  breath.  But,  however  frequently  she 
perused  its  contents,  she  found  only  that  old  Martin  entreated 
her  to  return — Josepha  had  "  blabbed." 

That  one  word  in  the  stiff  hand  of  the  faithful  old  ser- 
vant, which  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  scrawled  with  a 
match  upon  paper  redolent  of  the  odors  of  the  stable,  had  so 
startled  the  countess  that  she  left  Cannes  by  the  first  train, 
and  traveled  day  and  night  to  reach  home.  A  nervous  rest- 
lessness made  the  sheet  tremble  in  her  hand  as  she  thrust  it 
into  the  flames.  Then  she  paced  restlessly  to  and  fro.  Martin 
was  keeping  her  waiting  so  long. 

A  little  supper  had  been  hurriedly  prepared  and  was  now 
served.  But  the  countess  scarcely  touched  the  food  and, 
complaining  that  the  dining-room  was  cold,  crept  back  to  her 
boudoir.  At  last,  about  half  past  nine,  Martin  was  announced. 
He  had  gone  to  bed  and  they  had  been  obliged  to  rouse  him. 

"  Is  Your  Highness  going  out  ?"  asked  the  footman,  who 
could  not  understand  the  summons  to  Martin. 

"  If  I  am,  you  will  receive  orders  for  the  carriage,"  replied 
his  mistress,  and  a  flash  from  her  eyes  silenced  the  servant. 
"  Let  Martin  come  in  !"  she  added  in  a  harsh,  imperious  tone. 

The  man  opened  the  door. 

"  You  are  dismissed  for  to-night.  The  lights  can  be  put 
out,"  she  added. 

Martin  stood,  hat  in  hand,  awaiting  his  mistress'  com- 
mands. A  few  minutes  passed,  then  the  countess  noiselessly 
went  to  the  door  to  see  that  the  adjoining  rooms  were  empty 
and  that  no  one  was  listening.  When  she  returned  she  drew 
the  heavy  curtains  over  the  door  to  deaden  every  sound. 
Then  her  self-control  gave  way  and  rushing  to  the  old  coach- 
man she  grasped  his  hand.  "  Martin,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what 
has  happened  ?" 

Tears  glittered  in  Martin's  eyes,  as  he  saw  his  mistress' 
alarm,  and  he  took  her  trembling  hands  as  gently  as  if  they  were 


314  ON    THE    CROSS. 

the  reins  of  a  fiery  blooded  horse,  on  which  a  curb  has  been 
placed  for  the  first  lime.  "Ho — ho — dear  Countess,  only 
keep  quiet,  quiet,"  he  said  in  the  soothing  tones  used  to  his 
frightened  steeds :  "  All  is  not  lost !  I  didn't  let  myself  be 
caught,  and  there's  no  proof  of  what  Josepha  blabbed." 

"  So  they  tried  to  catch  you  ?  Tell  me" — she  was  trem- 
bling— "  how  did  they  come  to  you  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Martin  clumsily,  "  this  is  how  it  was.  They 
seem  to  have  driven  Josepha  into  a  corner.  At  her  funeral 
the  cook  told  me  that  just  before  she  died,  two  strangers  came 
to  the  house  and  had  a  long  conversation  with  the  sick  woman. 
When  the  hare  she  was  ordered  to  cook  was  done,  she  carried 
it  up.  But  the  people  in  the  room  were  talking  so  loud  that 
she  didn't  dare  go  in  and  stood  at  the  door  listening.  Some- 
thing was  said  about  the  countess'  favor  and  a  crime,  and 
Josepha  was  terribly  excited.  Suddenly  she  heard  nothing 
more,  Josepha  stammered  a  few  unintelligible  words,  and  the 
gentlemen  came  out  with  faces  as  red  as  fire.  They  left  the 
hare  in  the  lurch — and  off  they  went.  Josepha  died  the  same 
night.  Then  I  thought  they  might  be  the  Barons  von  Wild- 
enau,  because  their  coachman  had  often  tried  to  pump  me 
about  our  countess,  and  I  said  to  myself,  'now  I'll  do  the 
same  to  him.'  And  sure  enough  I  found  out  that  the  gentle- 
men had  gone  away,  and  where  ?  To  Prankenberg  !" 

The  countess  turned  pale  and  sank  into  an  arm-chair. 
"There,  there — Your  Highness,  don't  be  troubled,"  Martin 
went  on  calmly — "that  will  do  them  no  good,  the  church 
books  don't  lie  open  on  the  tavern  tables  like  bills  of  fare,  and 
the  old  pastor  will  not  let  everybody  meddle  with  them." 

"  The  old  pastor  ?"  cried  the  countess  despairingly — "  he 
is  dead,  and  since  my  father,  the  prince,  has  grown  weak- 
minded,  the  patronage  has  lapsed  to  the  government.  The 
new  pastor  has  no  motive  for  showing  us  any  consideration." 

"  So  the  old  pastor  is  dead  ?  H'm,  H'm  !"  Martin  for  the 
first  time  shook  his  head  anxiously.  "Ifoneconld  only  get 
a  word  from  His  Highness  the  Prince — just  to  find  out 
whether  the  marriage  was  really  entered  in  the  record." 

"  Yes,  if  we  knew  that !" 

Martin  smiled  with  a  somewhat  embarrassed  look.  "  I 
ventured  to  take  a  little  liberty — and  went — I  thought  I  would 


THE   LAST    SUPPORT.  315- 

try  whether  I  could  find  out  anything  from  him  ?  Because 
His  Highness — you  remember — followed  us  to  Prankenberg." 

"  Very  true  !"  The  countess  nodded  in  the  utmost  excite- 
ment. "  Well  ?" 

"  Alas ! — it  was  useless !  His  Highness  doesn't  know  any- 
body, can  remember  nothing.  When  you  go  over  to-morrow, 
you  will  see  that  he  can't  live  long.  His  Highness  is  per- 
fectly childish.  Then  he  got  so  excited  that  we  thought  he 
would  lose  his  breath,  and  at  last  had  to  be  put  to  bed.  I 
could  not  help  weeping  when  I  saw  it — such  a  stately  gentle- 
man—  and  now  so  helpless  !" 

The  countess  listened  to  this  report  with  little  interest. 
Her  father  had  been  nothing  to  her  while  he  retained  his 
mental  faculties — now,  in  a  condition  of  slow  decay,  he  was 
merely  a  poor  invalid,  to  whom  she  performed  the  usual  filial 
duties. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  she  cried  impatiently,  "  you  are  not  tell- 
ing the  story  in  regular  order.  When  did  you  see  my  father?" 

"  A  week  ago,  after  my  talk  with  the  gentlemen." 

"  That  is  the  main  thing — tell  me  about  that." 

"  Why,  it  was  this  way  :  I  was  sitting  quietly  at  the  tavern 
one  night,  when  Herr  von  Wildenau's  coachman  came  to  me 
again  and  said  that  his  master  wanted  to  talk  with  me  about 
our  bay  mare  with  the  staggers  which  he  would  like  to  harness 
with  his  bay.  I  was  glad  that  we  could  get  the  mare  off  on 
him." 

"  Fie,  Martin  !" 

"  Why — if  nobody  tried  to  cheat,  there  wouldn't  be  any 
more  horse-trading !  So  I  told  him  I  thought  the  countess 
would  sell  the  mare — we  had  no  mate  for  her  and  I  would  in- 
form Your  Highness.  No,  the  gentleman  would  write  directly 
to  Her  Highness — only  I  must  go  to  them,  they  wanted  to 
talk  with  me.  Well — 1  went,  and  they  shut  all  the  doors  and 
pulled  the  curtains  over  them,  just  as  your  Highness  did,  and 
then  they  began  on  the  bay  and  promised  me  a  big  fee,  if  I 
would  get  her  cheap  for  them.  Every  coachman  takes  a  fee," 
the  old  man  added  in  an  embarrassed  tone,  "  it's  the  custom — 
you  won't  be  vexed,  Countess — so  I  made  myself  a  bit  im- 
portant and  pretended  that  it  depended  entirely  on  me,  and  I 
would  make  Her  Highness  so  dissatisfied  with  the  mare  that 


316  ON   THE   CROSS. 

she  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  her  cheap,  and — all  the  rest  of 
the  things  we  coachmen  say  !  So  the  gentlemen  thought  be- 
cause I  bargained  with  them  about  one  thing,  I  would  about 
another.  But  that  was  quite  different  from  a  horse-trade,  and 
my  employers  are  no  animals  to  be  sold,  so  they  found  that 
they  had  come  to  the  wrong  person.  If  I  would  make  a  little 
extra  money  by  getting  rid  of  a  poor  animal,  which  we  had 
long  wanted  to  sell,  I'm  not  the  rascal  to  take  thousands  from 
anybody  to  deprive  my  employers  of  house  and  home.  And 
the  poor  old  Prince,  who  can  no  longer  help  himself,  would 
perhaps  be  left  to  starve  in  his  old  age.  No,  the  gentlemen 
were  mistaken  in  old  Martin,  they  don't  know  what  it  is"- 
tears  were  streaming  down  the  old  man's  wrinkled  cheeks — 
"  to  put  such  a  little  princess  on  a  horse  for  the  first  time  and 
place  the  reins  in  her  tiny  hands." 

"  Please  go  on  Martin,"  said  the  countess  gently,  scarcely 
able  to  exert  any  better  control  over  herself.  "  What  did  they 
offer  you  ?" 

"  A  great  deal  of  money,  if  I  would  bear  witness  in  court 
that  you  were  married." 

"  Ah !" — the  terrified  woman  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  There — there,  Countess,"  said  Martin,  soothingly.  "  I 
haven't  finished !  Hold  your  head  up,  Your  Highness,  I  beg 
you,  this  is  no  time  to  be  faint-hearted,  we  must  be  on  the 
watch  and  keep  the  reins  well  in  hand,  that  they  may  not  get 
the  start  of  us." 

"  Yes,  yes !    Go  on !" 

"  Well,  they  tried  to  catch  me  napping.  They  knew  every- 
thing, and  I  had  been  a  witness  of  the  wedding  at  Pranken- 
berg !" 

"  Good  Heavens !"     The  countess  seemed  paralyzed. 

Martin  laughed.  "  But  I  didn't  let  myself  be  caught — I 
looked  as  stupid  as  if  I  couldn't  bridle  a  horse,  and  had  never 
heard  of  any  wedding  in  all  my  days  except  our  Princess" 
marriage  to  the  late  Count.  Of  course  I  was  at  the  church 
then,  with  all  the  other  servants.  Then  the  gentlemen  mut- 
tered something  in  French — and  asked  what  wages  I  had,  and 
when  I  told  them,  they  said  they  were  too  low  for  such  rich 
employers,  and  began  to  make  me  offers  till  they  reached  fifty 


THE    LAST   SUPPORT.  317 

thousand  marks,  if  I  would  state  what  they  wanted.  Yes,  and 
then  they  told  me  you  were  capable  of  marrying  two  men  and 
meant  to  take  the  duke  as  well  as  the  steward,  and  they 
didn't  want  to  have  such  a  crime  in  the  family — so  I  must 
help  them  prevent  it.  But  this  didn't  move  me  at  all,  and  I 
said:  'That's  no  concern  of  mine;  my  mistress  knows  what  to 
do !'  So  off  I  went,  and  left  the  gentlemen  staring  like  balky 
horses  when  they  don't  want  to  pass  anything.  Then  I  went 
to  the  Prince,  and  as  I  could  learn  nothing  there,  I  knew  of 
no  other  way  than  to  write  to  Your  Highness.  I  hope  you'll 
pardon  the  liberty." 

"  Oh,  Martin,  you  trusty  old  servant !  Your  simple  loyalty 
shames  me ;  but  I  fear  that  your  sacrifice  is  useless — they  know 
all,  Martin,  nothing  can  save  me." 

Martin  smiled  craftily  into  the  bottom  of  his  hat,  as  if  it 
was  the  source  of  his  wisdom,  "1  think  just  this :  If  the  gentle- 
men do  know  everything,  they  have  got  to  prove  it,  for  Josepha 
is  dead,  and  if  they  had  found  the  information  they  wanted  at 
Prankenberg,  they  needn't  offer  so  much  money  for  my  testi- 
mony !" 

The  countess  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  head :  "  I  don't 
know,  I  can't  think  any  more.  Oh,  Martin,  how  shall  I 
thank  you  ?  If  the  stroke  of  the  pen  which  will  give  you 
the  fifty  thousand  marks  you  scorned  to  receive  from  the 
Wildenaus  can  repay  you — take  it,  but  I  shall  still  be  your 
debtor."  She  hurriedly  wrote  a  few  words.  "  There  is  a 
check  for  fifty  thousand  marks,  cash  it  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Don't  delay  an  hour,  any  day  may  be  the  last  that  I 
shall  have  anything  to  give.  Take  it  quickly." 

But  Martin  shook  his  head.  "  Why,  what  is  Your  High- 
ness thinking  of?  I  don't  want  to  be  paid,  like  a  bribed  wit- 
ness, for  doing  only  my  duty.  There  would  have  been  no 
credit  in  refusing  the  money,  if  I  took  it  afterward  from  Your 
Highness.  No,  I  thank  you  most  humbly — but  I  can't  do  it." 

The  countess  was  deeply  ashamed.  "  But  if  I  lose  my 
property,  Martin,  if  they  begin  a  law-suit — I  can  no  longer  re- 
ward your  fidelity.  Have  you  considered  that  everything  can 
be  taken  from  me  if  they  succeed  in  proving  that  I  am  mar- 
ried ?" 

Martin  nodded:    "Yes,  yes,  I  know  our  late  master's  wilL 


318  ON   THE    CROSS. 

I  believe  he  was  jealous  and  wanted  to  prevent  the  countess 
from  marrying  again.  But  you  needn't  be  troubled  about  me, 
I've  saved  enough  to  buy  a  little  home  which,  in  case  of  need, 
might  shelter  the  countess  and  Herr  Freyer,  too.  I  have  had 
it  all  from  you!".  Martin's  broad  face  beamed  with  joy  at  the 
thought. 

"Martin!" — she  could  say  no  more.  Martin  did  not 
know  what  had  happened — surely  the  skies  would  fall — the 
countess  had  sunk  upon  his  breast,  the  broad  old  breast  in 
which  throbbed  such  a  stupid,  honest  heart!  He  stood  as 
motionless  as  a  post  or  the  pile  of  a  bridge,  to  which  a  drown- 
ing person  clings.  But,  during  all  the  sixty-five  years  his 
honest  heart  had  beat  under  the  Prankenberg  livery,  it  had 
never  throbbed  so  violently  as  at  this  moment.  His  little 
princess !  She  was  in  his  arms  again  as  in  the  days  when  he 
placed  her  in  the  saddle  for  the  first  time.  Then  she  wept 
and  clung  to  him  whenever  the  horse  made  a  spring,  but  he 
held  her  firmly  and  she  felt  safe  in  his  care — now  she  again 
wept  and  clung  to  him  in  helpless  terror — but  now  she  was  a 
stately  woman  who  had  outgrown  his  protection ! 

"  There — there,  Countess,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  God  will 
help  you.  Go  to  rest.  You  are  wearied  by  the  long  journey. 
To-morrow  you  will  see  everything  with  very  different  eyes. 
And,  as  I  said  before,  if  all  the  ropes  break — then  you  will 
find  lodging  with  old  Martin.  You  always  liked  peasants' 
fare.  Don't  you  remember  how  you  used  to  slip  in  to  the 
coachman's  little  room  and  shared  my  bread  and  cheese  till 
the  governess  found  it  out  and  spoiled  our  fun  ?  Yes,  yes, 
bread  and  cheese  were  forbidden  dainties,  and  yet  they  were 
God's  gift  which  even  the  poorest  might  enjoy.  You  must 
remember  the  coachman's  little  room  and  how  they  tasted ! 
Well,  we  haven't  gone  so  far  yet,  and  Your  Highness'  friends 
will  not  suffer  it.  Yet,  if  matters  ever  did  come  to  that,  I 
believe  Your  Highness  would  rather  accept  a  home  from  me 
than  from  any  of  these  noblemen." 

"You  may  be  right  there!"  said  the  countess,  with  a 
thoughtful  nod. 

"  May  God  guard  Your  Highness  from  either. — Has  Your 
Highness  any  farther  orders  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  good  Martin.     Go  early  to-morrow  morning  to 


THE    LAST   SUPPORT.  319 

the  Prince — or  rather  the  Duke  of  Metten-Barnheim — and  ask 
him  to  call  on  me  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  Alas — the  duke  went  to  shoot  black  cock  this  morning — 
I  suppose  he  didn't  know  that  Your  Highness  was  coming  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.     How  long  will  he  be  away  ?" 

"Till  the  end  of  the  week,  his  coachman  told  me." 

"  This  too !"     She  stood  in  helpless  despair. 

"The  coachman  said  that  His  Highness  was  going  to 
Castle  Sternbach — perhaps  Your  Highness  might  telegraph 
there !" 

"Yes,  my  good  old  friend — you  are  right!"  And  with 
eager  haste  she  wrote  a  telegram.  "  There  it  is,  Martin,  it  will 
reach  him  somewhere !" 

And  she  remembered  the  message  despatched  nine  years 
before,  after  the  Passion  Play,  to  the  man  whom  she  was  now 
recalling  as  her  last  support.  At  that  time  she  informed  him 
that  she  should  stay  in  Ammergau  and  let  the  roses  awaiting 
her  at  home  wither — now  she  remained  at  home  and  let  the 
roses  that  bloomed  for  her  in  Ammergau  languish. 

The  coachman,  as  if  reading  the  mute  language  of  her 
features  and  the  bitter  expression  of  her  compressed  lips,  asked 
timidly:  "I  suppose  Your  Highness  will  not  drive  to  the 
Griess." 

"  No !"  she  said,  so  curtly  and  hastily  that  it  cut  short 
any  farther  words. 

For  the  first  time  a  shadow  flitted  over  honest  Martin's 
face.  Sadly,  almost  reproachfully,  he  wished  his  beloved 
mistress  "a  good  night's  rest,"  and  stumbled  wearily  out.  It 
had  hurt  him, — but  "  the  last  thing  he  had  discovered  "  he  did 
not  venture,  out  of  respect  to  his  employer,  to  express  even  to 
himself. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


BETWEEN   POVERTY    AND    DISGRACE. 

THREE  weary  days  had  passed.  The  countess  was  ill. 
At  least  she  permitted  her  household  to  believe  that  she  was 
unable  to  leave  her  room.  No  one  was  allowed  to  know  that 
she  had  returned,  and  the  windows  of  the  Wildenau  Palace  re- 


320  ON   THE   CROSS. 

mflined  closed,  as  when  the  owner  was  absent.  Thus  con- 
demned to  total  inactivity  in  the  twilight  of  her  apartments, 
she  became  the  helpless  prey  of  her  gnawing  anxiety.  The 
third  day  brought  a  glimmer  of  hope,  a  telegram  from  the 
duke :  "  I  will  come  at  six  this  evening." 

The  countess  trembled  and  turned  pale  as  she  read  the 
lines.  What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  She  did  not  know,  she 
only  felt  that  the  turning-point  of  her  life  had  come. 

"  The  Duke  of  Metten-Barnheim  will  call  this  evening  and 
must  be  admitted,  but  no  one  else  !"  were  the  orders  given  to 
the  servant. 

Then,  to  pass  away  the  time,  she  changed  her  dress.  If 
she  was  to  be  poor  and  miserable,  to  possess  nothing  she 
formerly  owned ;  she  would  at  least  be  beautiful,  beautiful  as 
the  setting  sun  which  irradiates  everything  with  rosy  light. 

And  with  the  true  feminine  vanity  which  coquets  with 
death  and  finds  a  consolation  in  being  beautiful  even  in  the 
coffin,  she  chose  for  the  momentous  consultation  impending  one 
of  the  most  bewitching  negligee  costumes  in  her  rich  ward- 
robe. Ample  folds  of  rose-colored  crepe  de  chine  were  draped 
over  an  under-dress  of  pink  plush,  which  reflected  a  thousand 
shades  from  the  deepest  rose  to  the  palest  flesh  color,  the 
whole  drapery  loosely  caught  with  single  grey  pearls.  How 
long  would  she  probably  possess  such  garments  ?  She  per- 
haps wore  it  to-day  for  the  last  time.  Her  trembling  hand 
was  icy  cold,  as  she  wound  a  pink  ribbon  through  her  curls 
and  fastened  it  with  a  pearl  clasp. 

There  she  stood,  like  Aphrodite,  risen  from  the  foam  of  the 
sea,  and — she  smiled  bitterly — she  could  not  even  raise  herself 
from  the  mire  into  which  a  single  error  had  lured  her.  Then 
she  was  again  overwhelmed  by  an  unspeakable  consciousness 
of  misery,  her  disgrace,  which  made  all  her  splendor  seem  a 
mockery.  She  was  on  the  point  of  stripping  off  the  glittering 
robe  when  the  duke  was  announced.  It  was  too  late  to 
change. 

She  hurried  into  the  boudoir  to  meet  him — floating  in  like 
a  roseate  cloud. 

"  How  beautiful !"  exclaimed  the  duke,  admiringly;  "you 
look  like  a  bride !  It  must  be  some  joyful  cause  which  brought 
you  back  here  so  soon  and  made  you  send  for  me." 


BETWEEN    POVERTY    AND    DISGRACE.  321 

"  On  the  contrary,  Duke — a  bride  of  misfortune — a  peni- 
tent who  would  fain  varnish  the  ugliness  of  her  guilt  in  her 
friend's  eyes  by  outward  beauty." 

"  H'm !  That  would  be  at  any  rate  a  useless  deed,  Mad- 
eleine ;  for  beautiful  as  you  are,  I  do  not  love  you  for  your 
beauty's  sake.  Nor  is  it  for  your  virtues — you  never  aspired 
to  be  a  saint,  not  even  in  Ammergau,  where  you  least  suc- 
ceeded !  What  I  love  is  the  whole  grand  woman  with  all  her 
faults,  who  seems  to  have  been  created  for  me,  in  spite  of  the 
obstacles  reared  between  us  by  temperament  and  circum- 
stances. The  latter  are  accidents  which  may  prevent  our 
union,  but  which  cannot  deprive  me  of  my  share  in  you,  the 
part  which  /alone  understand,  and  which  I  shall  love  when  I 
see  you  before  me  as  a  white-haired  matron,  weary  of  life — 
perhaps  then  for  the  first  time." 

Emotion  stifled  the  countess'  words.  She  drew  him  down 
upon  a  chair  by  her  side  and  sank  feebly  upon  the  cushions  of 
her  divan. 

"  Oh,  how  cold  your  hands  are !"  said  the  duke,  gazing 
with  loving  anxiety  into  her  eyes.  "  You  alarm  me.  Spite 
of  your  rosy  glimmer,  you  are  pale  as  your  own  pearls.  And 
now  pearls  in  your  eyes  too  ?  Madeleine — my  poor  tortured 
Madeleine — what  has  happened  ?" 

"  Oh,  Duke — help,  advise  me — or  all  is  lost.  The  Wilde- 
naus  have  discovered  my  secret.  Josepha,  that  half-crazy  girl 
from  Ammergau,  has  betrayed  me !" 

"  So  that  is  her  gratitude  for  the  life  you  saved."  The 
duke  nodded  as  if  by  no  means  surprised.  "  It  was  to  be  ex- 
pected from  that  sort  of  person.  Why  did  you  preserve  the 
fool  ?" 

"  I  could  not  let  her  leap  into  the  water." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better !  This  sham-saint  had 
not  even  sufficient  healthful  nature  in  her  to  be  grateful  ?" 

"Ah,  she  had  reason  to  hate  me,  she  loved  my  child  more 
than  any  earthly  thing  and  reproached  me  for  having  neglected 
it.  These  people  can  imagine  love  only  in  the  fulfillment  of 
lowly  duties  and  physical  attendance.  That  a  woman  can 
have  no  time  or  understanding  of  these  things,  and  yet  love,  is 
beyond  their  comprehension." 

**  A  fine  state  of  affairs,  where  the  servant  makes  herself 

21 


322  ON    THE    CROSS. 

the  judge  of  her  mistress — nay  even  discovers  in  her  conduct 
an  excuse  for  the  basest  treachery.  A  plain  maid-servant, 
properly  reared  by  her  parents,  would  have  fulfilled  her  duty 
to  her  employers  without  philosophizing." 

The  countess  nodded,  she  was  thinking  of  old  Martin. 

"  But,"  the  duke  continued,  "  extra  allowance  must  of 
course  be  made  for  these  Ammergau  people." 

"We  will  let  her  rest;  she  is  dead.  Who  knows  how  it 
happened,  or  the  struggles  through  which  she  passed  ?" 

"  Is  she  dead  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  died  just  after  the  child." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  the  duke,  thoughtfully,  in  a  gentler  tone : 
"  Well,  then  at  least  she  has  atoned.  But,  my  dear  Madeleine, 
this  does  not  undo  the  disaster.  The  Wildenaus  will  at  any 
rate  try  to  make  capital  out  of  their  knowledge  of  your  secret, 
and,  as  the  dear  cousins  are  constantly  incurring  gaming  and 
other  debts — especially  your  red-haired  kinsman  Fritz — they 
will  not  let  slip  the  opportunity  of  making  their  honored  cousin 
pay  for  their  discretion  the  full  amount  of  their  notes  !" 

"  Ah,  if  that  were  all !" 

"  That  all !  What  more  could  there  be  ?  I  admit  that  it  is 
unspeakably  painful  for  you  to  know  that  your  honor  and  your 
deepest  secrets  are  in  such  hands — but  how  long  will  it  be  ere, 
if  it  please  God,  you  will  be  in  a  position  which  will  remove 
you  from  it  all,  and  I — !" 

"Duke — Good  Heavens!  —  It  is  far  worse,"  cried  the 
countess,  wringing  her  hands :  "  Oh,  merciful  God — at  last,  at 
last,  it  must  be  told.  You  do  not  know  all,  the  worst — I  had 
not  courage  to  tell  you — are  you  aware  of  the  purport  of  my 
late  husband's  will  ?" 

"  Certainly — it  runs  that  you  must  restore  the  property,  of 
which  he  makes  you  sole  heiress,  to  the  cousins,  if  you  marry 
again.  What  of  that — do  you  suppose  I  ever  thought  of  your 
millions  ?"  He  laughed  gayly :  "  I  flatter  myself  that  my 
finances  will  not  permit  you  to  feel  the  withdrawal  of  your 
present  income  when  you  are  my  wife." 

"  Omnipotent  Father  ! — You  do  not  understand  me !  This 
is  the  moment  I  have  always  dreaded — oh,  had  I  only  been 
truthful.  Duke,  forgive  me,  pity  me,  I  am  the  most  miserable 
creature  under  the  sun.  I  shall  not  be  your  wife,  but  a  beggar 


BETWEEN   POVERTY   AND    DISGRACE.  323- 

— for  I  am  married,  and  the  Wildenaus  know  it  through  Jo- 
sephal" 

There  are  moments  when  it  seems  as  if  the  whole  world  was 
silent — as  if  the  stars  paused  in  their  courses  to  listen,  and  we 
hear  nothing  save  the  pulsing  of  the  blood  in  our  ears.  It  is 
long  ere  we  perceive  any  other  sound.  This  was  the  case  with 
the  duke.  For  a  long  time  he  seemed  to  himself  both  deaf 
and  blind.  Then  he  heard  the  low  hissing  of  the  gas  jets, 
then  heavy  breathing,  and  at  last  the  earth  began  to  turn  on 
its  axis  again  and  things  resumed  their  natural  relations. 

Yet  his  energetic  nature  did  not  need  much  time  to  recover 
its  poise.  One  glance  at  the  hopeless,  drooping  woman  showed 
him  that  this  was  not  the  hour  to  think  of  himself — that  he 
never  had  more  serious  duties  to  perform  than  to-day.  Now 
lie  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  unconsciously  re- 
treated from  her  half  the  length  of  the  room. 

She  held  out  her  hand  imploringly,  and  with  the  swiftness 
of  thought  he  was  once  more  at  her  side,  clasping  it  in  his 
own.  "  I  have  concealed  this,  deceived  your  great,  noble  love 
— for  years — because  I  perceived  that  you  were  as  necessary 
to  my  life  as  reason  and  science  and  all  the  other  gifts  I  once 
undervalued.  I  did  not  venture  to  reveal  the  secret,  lest  I 
should  lose  you.  The  moment  has  come — you  will  leave  me, 
for  you  must  now  make  another  choice — but  do  not  be  angry, 
grant  me  the  one  consolation  of  parting  without  rancor." 

"  We  have  not  yet  gone  so  far.  I  told  you  ten  minutes  ago 
that  the  accidents  of  temperament  and  circumstance  may  di- 
vide us,  but  cannot  rob  you  of  what  was  created  for  me,  we  do 
not  part  so  quickly. — You  have  not  deceived  me,  for  you  have 
never  told  me  that  you  loved  me  or  would  become  my  wife, 
and  your  bearing  was  blameless.  Your  husband  might  have 
witnessed  every  moment  of  our  intercourse.  Believe  me,  the 
slightest  coquetry,  the  smallest  concession  in  my  favor  at  your 
husband's  expense  would  find  in  me  the  sternest  possible 
judge.  But  though  an  unhappy  wife,  you  were  a  loyal  one — 
to  that  I  can  bear  witness.  If  I  yielded  to  illusions,  it  is  no 
fault  of  yours — who  can  expect  a  nature  so  delicately  strung 
as  yours  to  make  an  executioner  of  the  heart  of  her  best  friend  ? 
Those  are  violent  measures  which  would  not  accord  with  the 


324  ON   THE   CROSS. 

sweet  weakness,  which  renders  you  at  once  so  guilty  and  so 
excusable." 

The  countess  hid  her  face  as  if  overwhelmed  by  remorse 
and  shame. 

"  Do  not  let  us  lose  our  composure  and  trust  to  me  to  care 
for  you  still,  for  your  present  position  requires  the  utmost  cau- 
tion and  prudence.  But  now,  Madeleine — you  have  no  farther 
pretext  for  not  telling  me  the  whole  truth  !  Now  I  must  know 
all  to  be  able  to  act.  Will  you  answer  my  questions  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  tell  me — are  you  really  married  to  Freyer  ?" 

"  Yes !" 

"  So  the  farce  must  end  tragically !"  murmured  the  duke. 
"  I  cannot,  will  not  believe  it — it  is  too  shocking  that  a  woman 
like  you  should  be  ruined  by  the  Ammergau  farce." 

"  Not  by  that ;  by  the  presumption  with  which  I  sought  to 
draw  the  deity  down  to  me.  Oh,  it  is  a  hard  punishment.  I 
prayed  so  fervently  to  God  and,  instead  of  His  face,  He  showed 
me  a  mask  and  then  left  me  to  atone  for  the  deception  by  the 
repentance  of  a  whole  life." 

"  Ah,  can  you  really  believe  that  the  Highest  Wisdom 
would  have  played  so  cruel  a  masquerade  with  you  ?  Why 
should  you  be  so  terribly  punished  ?  No,  ma  chere  arnie^  God 
has  neither  deceived  nor  wished  to  punish  you.  He  showed 
Himself  in  response  to  your  longing,  or  rather  your  longing 
made  you  imagine  that  you  saw  Him — and  had  you  been  con- 
tent with  that,  you  would  have  returned  home  happy  with  the 
vision  of  your  God  in  your  heart,  like  thousands  who  were 
elevated  by  the  Passion  Play.  But  you  wanted  more ;  you 
possess  a  sensuous  religious  nature,  which  cannot  separate  the 
essence  from  the  appearance  and,  after  having  seen,  you  desired 
to  possess  Him  in  the  precise  form  in  which  He  appeared  to 
you  !  Had  it  depended  upon  you,  you  would  have  robbed  the 
world  of  its  God !  Fortunately,  it  was  only  Herr  Freyer  whom 
you  stole,  and  now  that  you  perceive  your  error  you  accuse  God 
of  having  deceived  you.  You  talk  constantly  of  your  faith  in 
God,  and  yet  have  so  poor  an  opinion  of  Him  ?  What  had 
God  to  do  with  your  imagining  that  the  poor  actor  in  the  Pas- 
sion Play,  who  wore  His  mask,  must  be  Himself,  and  there- 
fore wedded  him !" 


BETWEEN    POVERTY    AND    DISGRACE.  325 

The  countess  made  no  reply.  This  was  the  tone  which  she 
could  never  endure.  He  was  everything  to  her — her  sole  con- 
fidant and  counselor — but  he  could  not  comprehend  what  she 
had  experienced  during  the  Passion  Play. 

"  I  am  once  more  the  dry  sceptic  who  so  often  angered 
you,  am  I  not  ?"  said  the  Prince,  whose  keen  observation  let 
nothing  escape.  "  But  I  flatter  myself  that  you  will  be  more 
ready  to  view  matters  from  a  sober  standpoint  after  having 
convinced  yourself  of  the  dangers  of  intercourse  with  '  phan- 
toms'  and  demi-gods,  who  lure  their  victims  into  devious 
paths  where  they  are  liable  morally  to  break  their  necks." 

The  countess  could  not  help  smiling  sorrowfully.  "  You 
are  incorrigible !" 

"  Well,  we  must  take  things  as  they  are.  As  you  will  not 
confess  that  you — pardon  the  frankness — have  committed  a 
folly  and  ruined  your  life  for  the  sake  of  a  fanciful  whim,  the 
caprice  must  be  elevated  to  the  rank  of  a  '  dispensation  of 
Providence,'  and  the  inactive  endurance  of  its  consequences  a 
meritorious  martyrdom.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  God  is 
guilty  either  of  your  marriage  or  of  your  self-constituted  martyr- 
dom, and  therefore  I  tell  you  that  I  do  not  regard  your  mar- 
riage, to  use  the  common  parlance,  one  of  those  '  made  in 
Heaven ' — in  other  words,  an  indissoluble  one." 

The  countess  shrank  as  though  her  inmost  thoughts  were 
suddenly  pointing  treacherous  fingers  at  her.  "  Do  you  take 
it  so  lightly,  Duke  ?" 

"  That  I  do  not  take  it  lightly  is  proved  by  the  immense 
digression  which  I  made  to  remove  any  moral  and  religious 
scruples.  The  practical  side  of  the  question  scarcely  requires 
discussion.  But  to  settle  the  religious  moral  one  first,  tell  me, 
was  your  marriage  a  civil  or  religious  one  ?" 

"  Religious." 

"  When  and  where  ?" 

"  At  Prankenberg,  after  the  Passion  Play.  It  will  be  ten 
years  next  August." 

"  How  did  it  all  happen  ?" 

"  Very  simply :  My  father,  who  suddenly  sought  me,  as 
usual  when  he  was  in  debt,  saw  that  I  wanted  to  marry  Freyer 
and,  fearing  a  public  scandal,  advised  me,  in  order  to  save  the 
property — which  he  needed  almost  more  than  I — to  marry 


326  ON   THE   CROSS. 

secretly.  Wherever  the  Tridentine  Council  ruled,  the  sole 
requisite  of  a  valid  marriage  was  that  the  two  persons  should 
state,  in  the  presence  of  an  ordained  priest  and  two  witnesses, 
that  they  intended  to  marry.  As  my  father  was  never  very 
reliable,  and  might  change  his  opinion  any  day,  I  hastened  to 
follow  his  advice  before  it  occurred  to  him  to  put  any  obstacles 
in  my  way,  as  the  pastor  at  Prankenberg  was  wholly  in  his 
power.  So  I  set  off  with  Freyer  and  Josepha  that  very  night. 
An  old  coachman,  Martin,  whose  fidelity  I  had  known  from 
childhood,  lived  at  Prankenberg.  I  took  him  and  Josepha 
for  witnesses,  and  we  surprised  the  old  pastor  while  he  was 
drinking  his  coffee." 

The  prince  made  a  gesture  of  surprise.  "  What — over  his 
coffee  ?" 

"  Yes — before  he  could  push  back  his  cup,  we  had  made 
our  statement — and  the  deed  was  done." 

The  prince  started  up ;  his  eyes  sparkled,  his  whole  man- 
ner betrayed  the  utmost  agitation.  "  And  you  call  that  being 
married  ?  And  give  me  this  fright  ?"  He  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  if  relieved  of  a  burden.  "  Madeleine,  if  you  had  only  told 
me  this  at  once !" 

"  But  why  ?     Does  it  change  the  matter  ?" 

"  Surely  you  will  not  persuade  yourself  that  this  farce  with 
the  old  pastor  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  his  morning- 
pipe  and  the  fragrance  of  Mocha — was  a  wedding  ?  You  will 
hot  expect  me  as  a  Protestant,  or  any  enlightened  Catholic, 
to  regard  it  in  that  light  ?" 

"  But  what  does  the  form  matter  ?  Protestantism  cares 
nothing  for  the  form — it  heeds  only  the  meaning." 
i  "  But  the  meaning  was  lacking — at  least  to  you — to  you  it 
was  a  mere  form  which  you  owed  to  the  sanctity  of  your  lover's 
mask  of  Christus."  He  seized  her  hand  with  unwonted  pas- 
sion. "  Madeleine,  for  once  be  truthful  to  yourself  and  to  me 
— am  I  not  right  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  she  murmured  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Well,  then — if  the  meaning  was  lacking  and  the  chosen 
form  an  illegal  one — what  binds  you  ?" 

Madeleine  was  silent.  This  question  was  connected  with 
her  secret,  which  he  would  never  understand.  His  nature  was 
too  positive  to  reckon  with  anything  except  facts.  The  duke 


BETWEEN    POVERTY    AND    DISGRACE.  327 

felt  tnat  she  was  withholding  an  answer,  not  because  she  had 
none,  but  because  she  did  not  wish  to  give  the  true  one.  But 
he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  disconcerted.  "  Did  the  old 
pastor  give  you  any  written  proof  of  this  e  sacred  rite ' — we  will 
give  it  the  proud  name  of  a  marriage  certificate." 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  has  the  document  ?" 

"  Freyer !" 

"  That  is  unfortunate ;  for  it  gives  him  an  apparent  right  to 
consider  himself  married  and  make  difficulties,  which  compli- 
cate the  case.  But  we  can  settle  with  Freyer — I  have  less  fear 
of  him.  Your  situation  is  more  imperilled  by  this  tale  of  a  se- 
cret marriage,  which  Josepha,  in  good  faith,  brought  to  the 
ears  of  the  Wildenaus.  This  is  a  disaster  which  requires 
speedy  remedy.  In  other  respects  everything  is  precisely  as 
it  was  when  you  went  to  Cannes.  This  complication  changes 
nothing  in  my  opinion.  I  hold  the  same  view.  If  you  no 
longer  love  Freyer,  break  with  him ;  the  way  of  doing  so  is  a 
minor  matter.  I  leave  it  to  you.  But  break  with  him  and 
give  me  your  hand — then  the  whole  spectre  will  melt.  We 
will  gladly  restore  the  Wildenau  property  to  the  cousins,  and 
they  will  then  have  no  farther  motive  for  pursuing  the  affair." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  Could  you  still  think  seriously  of  it — and 
I,  good  Heavens,  must  I  become  doubly  a  criminal  ?" 

"  But,  chere  amte,  look  at  things  objectively  a  little." 

"  Even  if  I  do  look  at  them  objectively,  I  don't  understand 
how  I  could  marry  again  without  being  divorced,  and  to  apply 
for  a  divorce  now  would  be  acknowledging  the  marriage." 

"  Who  is  to  divorce  you,  if  no  one  married  you  ?  Accord- 
ing to  civil  law,  you  are  still  single,  for  you  are  not  registered 
in  accordance  with  your  rank — according  to  religious  law  you 
are  not  married,  at  least  not  in  the  opinion  of  the  great  major- 
ity of  Christian  countries  and  sects,  to  whom  the  Tridentine 
Council  is  not  authoritative  !  Will  you  insist  upon  sacrificing 
your  existence  and  honor  to  a  sentimental  scruple  ?  Will  you 
confess  to  the  Wildenaus  that  you  are  married  ?  In  that  case 
you  must  not  only  restore  the  property,  but  also  the  interest 
you  have  illegally  appropriated  for  nine  years,  which  will  swal- 
low your  little  private  property  and  rob  you  of  your  sole 
means  of  support.  What  will  follow  then  ?  Do  you  mean  to 


328  ON   THE   CROSS. 

retire  with  the  'steward'  from  the  scene  amid  the  jeering 
laughter  of  society,  make  soup  for  him  at  his  home  in  Ammer- 
gau,  live  by  the  labor  of  his  hands,  and  at  Christmas  receive 
the  gift  of  a  calico  gown  ?" 

The  countess  shuddered,  as  though  shaken  by  a  feverish 
chill. 

"  Or  will  you  continue  to  live  on  with  Freyer  as  before 
and  suffer  the  cousins  to  begin  an  inquiry  against  you,  and 
afford  the  world  the  spectacle  of  seeing  you  wrangle  with 
them  over  the  property  ?  Then  you  must  produce  the  dog- 
matic and  legal  proof  that  you  are  not  married.  This  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  difficult — but  I  must  beg  you  to  note  cer- 
tain possibilities.  If  it  is  decided  that  your  marriage  was  il- 
legal, then  the  question  will  be  brought  forward — how  did  you 
yourself  regard  it  ?  And  it  might  occur  to  the  Wildenaus' 
lawyers  that,  no  matter  whether  correctly  or  not,  you  consid- 
ered yourself  married  and  intentionally  defrauded  them  of  the 
property !" 

"  Merciful  Heaven !" 

"  Or  will  you  then  escape  a  criminal  procedure  by  declar- 
ing that  you  regarded  your  connection  with  Freyer  as  an  il- 
legal marriage  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  the  countess  crimsoned  with  shame. 

"  There  the  vindication  would  be  more  dishonoring  than 
the  accusation — so  you  must  renounce  that.  You  see  that  you 
have  been  betrayed  into  a  circulus  vitiosus  from  which  you  can 
no  longer  escape.  Wherever  you  turn — you  have  but  the 
choice  between  poverty  or  disgrace, — unless  you  decide  to 
become  Duchess  of  Metten-Barnheim  and  thus,  at  one  bound, 
spring  from  the  muddy  waves  which  now  threaten  you,  into 
the  pure,  unapproachable  sphere  of  power  and  dignity  to 
which  you  belong.  My  arms  are  always  open  to  save  you — 
my  heart  is  ready  to  love  and  to  protect  you — can  you  still 
hesitate  ?" 

The  tortured  woman  threw  herself  at  his  feet.  "  Duke— 
Emil — save  me — I  am  yours  f 


PARTING.  '     329 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 


PARTING. 

SEVERAL  minutes  have  passed — to  the  duke  a  world  of 
happiness — to  the  countess  of  misery.  The  duke  bent  over 
the  beautiful  trembling  form  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  for  the 
first  time. 

"  Have  I  won  you  at  last — my  long-sought  love  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed, rapturously.  "  Do  you  now  perceive  what  your  dis- 
pensations of  Providence  mean  ?  The  shrewdness  and  persist- 
ence of  a  single  man  who  knows  what  he  wants,  has  baffled 
them,  and  driven  all  the  heroes  of  signs  and  wonders  from  the 
field  !  Do  you  now  believe  what  I  said  just  now :  that  we  are 
our  own  Providence  ?" 

"  That  will  appear  in  due  time,  do  not  exalt  yourself  and 
do  not  blaspheme,  God  might  punish  your  arrogance !"  she 
said  faintly,  slipping  gently  from  his  embrace. 

"  Madeleine — no  betrothal  kiss — after  these  weary  years  of 
waiting  and  hoping." 

"  I  am  still  Freyer's  wife,"  she  said,  evasively — "  not  until 
I  am  parted  from  him." 

"  You  are  right !  I  will  not  steal  my  bride's  first  kiss  from 
another.  I  thank  you  for  honoring  my  future  right  in  his." 
His  lips  touched  her  brow  with  a  calm,  friendly  caress.  Then 
he  rose :  "  It  is  time  to  go,  I  have  not  a  moment  to  lose."  He 
glanced  at  the  clock :  "Seven  !  I  will  make  my  preparations 
at  once  and  set  out  for  Prankenberg  to-morrow." 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  do  ?" 

"  First  of  all  to  see  what  is  recorded  in  the  church  register, 
and  to  ascertain  what  kind  of  a  man  the  Catholic  pastor  is, 
that  I  may  form  some  idea  of  what  the  Wildenaus  have  dis- 
covered and  how  much  proof  they  have  obtained.  Then  we 
can  judge  how  far  we  must  dissimulate  with  these  gentlemen 
until  your  relation  with  Freyer  can  be  dissolved  without  any 
violent  outbreak  or  without  being  compelled  to  use  any  undue 
haste.  I  will  also  go  to  Barnheim  and  quietly  prepare  every- 
thing there  for  our  marriage.  The  more  quickly  all  these  busi- 
ness matters  are  settled,  the  sooner  our  betrothal  can  be  an- 


33°  ON   THE   CROSS. 

nounced.  And  that  I  am  ardently  longing  to  be  at  last  per- 
mitted to  call  you  mine,  you  will — I  hope,  understand  ?" 

"  But  my  relation  with  Freyer  must  first  be  arranged,"  said 
the  countess,  evasively.  "  We  cannot  dispose  of  him  like  an 
ordinary  business  matter.  He  is  a  man  of  heart  and  mind — 
we  must  remember  that  I  could  not  be  happy  for  an  hour,  if 
I  knew  that  he  was  miserable." 

"  Yet  you  have  left  him  alone  for  weeks  and  months  with- 
out any  pangs  of  conscience,"  said  the  duke  with  a  shade  of 
sternness. 

"  It  was  not  /,  but  the  force  of  circumstances.  What  hap- 
pens now  /shall  do — and  must  bear  the  responsibility.  Help 
me  to  provide  that  it  is  not  too  heavy."  Her  face  wore  a 
lofty,  beautiful  expression  as  she  spoke,  and  deeply  moved,  he 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Certainly,  Madeleine !  We  will  show  him  every  consid- 
eration and  do  everything  as  forbearingly  as  possible.  But 
remember  that,  as  I  just  respected  his  rights,  you  must  now 
guard  mine,  and  that  every  hour  in  which  you  retain  this  rela- 
tion to  him  longer  than  necessary — is  treason  to  both.  It  can- 
not suit  your  taste  to  play  such  a  part — so  do  not  lose  a  mo- 
ment in  renouncing  it," 

"  Certainly — you  are  right." 

"  Will  you  be  strong — will  you  have  the  power  to  do  what 
is  unavoidable — and  do  it  soon  ?" 

"  I  have  always  been  able  to  do  what  I  desired — I  can  do 
this  also." 

The  duke  took  her  hand  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  into 
her  eyes.  "  Madeleine — I  do  not  ask :  do  you  love  me  ?  I 
ask  only :  do  you  believe  that  you  will  love  me  ?" 

The  profound  modesty  of  this  question  touched  her  heart 
with  indescribable  melancholy,  and  in  overflowing  gratitude 
for  such  great  love,  which  gave  all  and  asked  nothing,  she 
bowed  her  head :  "  Yes — I  do  believe  it." 

The  duke's  usual  readiness  of  speech  deserted  him — he 
had  no  words  to  express  the  happiness  of  this  moment. 

What  was  that  ?  Voices  in  the  ante-room.  The  noise 
sounded  like  a  dispute.  Then  some  one  knocked  violently  at 
the  door. 

"  Come  in !"  cried  the  countess,  with  a  strange  thrill  of 


PARTING.  33 1 

fear.  The  footman  entered  hurriedly  with  an  excited  face. 
"  A  gentleman,  he  calls  himself  '  Steward  Freyer,'  is  there,  is 
following  close  at  my  heels — he  would  not  be  refused  admit- 
tance." He  pointed  backward  to  where  Freyer  already  ap- 
peared. 

The  countess  seemed  turned  to  stone.  "  Request  the 
steward  to  wait  a  moment !"  she  said  at  last,  with  the  imperi- 
ousness  of  the  mistress. 

The  man  stepped  back,  and  they  saw  him  close  the  door 
almost  by  force. 

"  Do  not  carry  matters  too  far,"  said  the  duke ;  "  he  seems 
to  be  very  much  excited — such  people  should  not  be  irritated. 
Admit  him  before  he  forces  the  door  and  makes  a  scandal  in 
the  presence  of  the  servant.  He  comes  just  at  the  right  time 
— in  this  mood  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  dismiss  him.  So  end 
the  matter !  But  be  calm,  have  no  scene — shall  I  remain  at 
hand  ?" 

"  No — I  am  not  afraid — it  would  be  ignoble  to  permit  you 
to  listen  to  him.  Trust  me,  and  leave  me  to  my  fate." 

At  this  time  the  voices  again  grew  louder,  then  the  door 
was  violently  thrown  open.  Freyer  stood  within  the  room. 

"  What  does  this  mean — am  I  assaulted  in  my  own 
house  ?"  cried  the  countess,  rebelling  against  this  act  of  vio- 
lence. 

Freyer  stood  trembling  from  head  to  foot ;  they  could  hear 
his  teeth  chatter :  "  I  merely  wished  to  ask  whether  it  was  the 
Countess  Wildenau's  desire  that  I  should  be  insulted  by  her 
servant." 

"  Certainly  not !"  replied  the  countess  with  dignity.  "  If 
my  servant  insulted  you,  you  shall  have  satisfaction — only  I 
wish  you  had  asked  it  in  a  less  unseemly  way." 

The  duke  quietly  took  his  hat  and  kissed  the  countess' 
hand :  "  Restez  calme  /"  Then  he  passed  out,  saluting  Freyer 
with  that  aristocratic  courtesy  which  at  once  irritates  and 
disarms. 

Freyer  stepped  close  to  the  countess,  his  eyes  wandered 
restlessly,  his  whole  appearance  was  startling :  "  Everything 
in  the  world  has  its  limit,  even  patience — mine  is  exhausted. 
Tell  me,  are  you  my  wife — you  who  stand  here  in  this  gay 
masquerade  of  laces  and  pearls — are  you  the  mourning  mother 


332  ON   THE   CROSS. 

of  a  dead  child  ?  Is  this  my  wife  who  decks  herself  for  an- 
other, shuts  herself  up  with  another,  or  at  least  gives  orders 
not  to  be  disturbed — who  has  her  lackeys  keep  her  wedded 
husband  at  bay  outside  with  blows — and  deems  it  unseemly 
if  the  last  remnant  of  manly  dignity  in  his  soul  rebels  and  he 
demands  satisfaction  from  his  wife.  Where  is  the  man,  I 
ask,  who  would  not  be  frenzied  ?  Where  is  the  woman,  I  ask, 
who  once  loved  me  ?  Is  it  you,  who  desert,  betray,  make  me 
contemptible  to  myself  and  others  ?  Where — where — in  the 
wide  world  is  there  a  man  so  deceived,  so  trampled  under  foot, 
as  1  am  by  you  ?  Have  you  any  answer  to  this,  woman  ?" 

The  countess  turned  deadly  pale,  terror  almost  stifled  her. 
For  the  first  time,  she  beheld  the  Gorgon,  popular  fury,  in 
his  face  and  while  turning  to  stone  the  thought  came  to  her : 
"  Would  you  live  with  that?"  Horror  stole  over  her — she  did 
not  know  whether  her  feeling  was  fear  or  loathing,  she  only 
knew  that  she  must  fly  from  the  "  turbid  waves "  ever  rolling 
nearer. 

There  is  no  armor  more  impenetrable  than  the  coldness  of 
a  dead  feeling.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  armed  herself  with 
it.  "  Tell  me,  if  you  please,  how  you  came  here,  what  you 
desire,  and  what  put  you  into  such  excitement." 

"  What — merciful  Heaven,  do  you  still  ask  ?  1  came  here 
to  learn  where  you  were  now,  to  what  address  I  could  write, 
as  you  made  no  reply  to  my  announcement  of  Josepha's  death 
— and  I  wished  to  say  that  I  could  no  longer  endure  this  life ! 
While  talking  with  the  servant  at  the  door,  old  Martin  passed 
and  told  me  that  you  were  here.  I  wanted  to  say  one  last 
word  to  you — I  went  upstairs,  found  the  footman,  and  asked, 
entreated  him  to  announce  me,  or  at  least  to  inquire  when  I 
could  speak  to  you  !  You  had  a  visitor  and  could  not  be  dis- 
turbed, was  his  scornful  answer.  Then  the  consciousness  of 
my  just  rights  awoke  within  me,  and  I  commanded  him 
to  announce  me.  You  refused  to  receive  me :  '  I  must 
wait' — I — must  wait  in  the  ante-room  while  you,  as  I  saw 
through  the  half-opened  door,  were  whispering  familiarly 
with  you  former  suitor !  Then  I  forgot  everything  and  ap- 
proached the  door — the  servant  tried  to  prevent  me,  I  flung 
him  aside,  and  then — he  dealt  me  a  blow  in  the  face — that 
face  which  you  had  once  likened  to  the  countenance  of  your 


PARTING.  333 

God  —  he,  your  servant.  If  I  had  not  had  sufficient  self- 
control  at  the  moment  to  say  to  myself  that  the  lackey  was 
only  your  tool — I  should  have  torn  him  to  pieces  with  my 
own  hands,  as  I  should  now  tear  you,  if  you  were  not  a  woman 
and  sacred  to  me,  even  in  your  sin." 

"  I  sincerely  regret  what  has  happened  and  do  not  blame 
you  for  making  me — at  least  indirectly  responsible.  I  will  dis- 
miss the  servant,  of  course — although  he  has  the  excuse  that 
you  provoked  him,  and  that  he  did  not  know  you." 

"  Yes,  he  certainly  cannot  know  me,  when  I  am  never  per- 
mitted to  appear." 

"  No  matter,  he  should  not  venture  to  treat  even  a  sti anger 
so,  and  therefore  must  be  punished  with  dismissal." 

"  Because  he  should  not  venture  to  treat  even  a  stranger 
so  ?"  Freyer  laughed  sadly,  bitterly :  "  I  thank  you,  keep 
your  servant — I  will  renounce  this  satisfaction." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  else  you  desire." 

u  You  do  not  know  ?  Oh,  Heaven,  had  this  happened 
earlier,  what  would  your  feelings  have  been !  Do  you  remem- 
ber your  emotion  in  the  Passion  Play,  when  I  received  only 
the  semblance  of  a  blow  upon  the  cheek  ?  Did  it  not,  as  you 
said,  strike  your  own  heart  ?  How  should  you  feel  when  you 
saw  it  in  reality  ?  Oh,  tears  should  have  streamed  down  your 
cheeks  with  grief  for  the  poor  deserted  husband,  who  the  only 
time  he  crossed  your  threshold,  was  insulted  by  your  lackey. 
If  you  still  retained  one  spark  of  love  for  me,  you  would  feel 
that  a  single  kiss  pressed  compassionately  on  my  cheek  to 
efface  the  brand  would  be  a  greater  satisfaction  than  the  dis- 
missal of  a  servant  whom  you  would  have  sacrificed  to  any 
stranger.  But  that  is  over,  we  no  longer  understand  each 
other !" 

The  countess  struggled  a  moment  between  pity  and  re- 
pugnance. But  at  the  thought  of  pressing  her  lips  to  the  face 
her  servant's  hand  had  struck,  loathing  overwhelmed  her  and 
she  turned  away. 

"  Yes,  turn  your  back  upon  me — for  should  you  look  me 
in  the  eyes  now,  you  would  be  forced  to  lower  your  own  and 
blush  with  shame." 

"  I  beg  you  to  consider  that  I  am  not  accustomed  to  such 
outbreaks,  and  shall  be  compelled  to  close  the  conversation, 


334  ON  THE  CROSS. 

if  your  manner  does  not  assume  a  form  more  in  accord  with 
the  standard  of  my  circle." 

"  Yes,  I  understand !  You  dread  the  element  you  have 
unchained  ?  A  peasant  was  very  well,  by  way  of  variety,  was 
he  not  ?  He  loved  differently,  more  ardently,  more  fiercely 
than  your  smooth  city  gentlemen.  The  strength  and  the  im- 
petuosity of  the  untutored  man  were  not  too  rude  when  I  bore 
you  through  the  flaming  forest,  and  caught  the  falling  branches 
which  threatened  to  crush  you — then  you  did  not  fear  me,  you 
did  not  thrust  me  back  within  the  limits  of  your  social  forms ; 
on  the  contrary,  you  rejoiced  that  the  world  still  contained 
power  and  might,  and  felt  yourself  a  Titaness.  Why  have  you 
suddenly  become  so  weak-nerved,  and  cannot  endure  this 
might — because  it  has  turned  against  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  countess,  with  a  flash  of  deadly  hatred  in 
her  fathomless  grey  eyes :  "  Not  on  that  account — but  be- 
cause at  that  time  I  believed  you  to  be  different  from  what  you 
really  are.  Then  I  believed  I  beheld  a  God,  now  I  perceive 
that  it  was  a — "  She  paused. 

"  Go  on — put  no  constraint  on  yourself — now  you  perceive 
that  it  was  a  peasant" 

"  You  just  called  yourself  by  that  name." 

Freyer  stood  as  though  a  thunder-bolt  had  struck  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  struggling  for  breath.  "  Yes,"  he  said  at 
last  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  did  call  myself  by  that  name,  but — -you 
should  not  have  done  so— not  you  !"  He  grasped  the  back 
of  a  chair  to  steady  himself. 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,"  said  the  countess,  coldly.  "  But — 
will  you  not  sit  down  ?  We  have  only  a  few  words  to  say  to 
each  other.  You  have  in  this  moment  stripped  off  the  mask 
of  Christus  and  torn  the  last  illusion  from  my  heart.  I  can  no 
longer  see  in  the  person  who  stood  before  me  so  disfigured  by 
fury  the  image  of  the  Redeemer." 

"  Was  not  the  Christ  also  angry,  when  He  saw  the  money- 
changers in  the  temple  ?  And  you,  you  bartered  the  most  sa- 
cred treasures  of  your  heart  and  mine  for  paltry-pelf  and  use- 
less baubles — but  I  must  not  be  angry  !  Scarcely  a  year  ago, 
by  the  bedside  of  our  sick  child,  you  reproached  me  with  be- 
ing unable  to  cease  playing  the  Christ — now — I  have  not  kept 
up  the  part !  But  it  does  not  matter,  whatever  I  might  be,  I 


PARTING.  335 

should  no  longer  please  you,  for  the  love  which  rendered  the 
peasant  a  God  is  lacking.  Yet  one  thing  I  must  add;  if 
now,  after  nine  years  marriage  with  you,  I  am  still  rough 
and  a  peasant,  the  reproach  does  not  fall  on  me  alone.  You 
might  have  raised,  ennobled  me,  my  soul  was  in  your  keep- 
ing"—  tears  suddenly  filled  his  eyes:  "  Woman,  what  have 
you  done  with  my  soul  ?" 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  his  strength  was  exhausted.  Made- 
leine von  Wildenau  made  no  reply,  the  reproach  struck  home. 
She  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  develop  his  powers,  to  ex- 
pand his  intellectual  faculties.  After  his  poetical  charm  was 
exhausted— she  flung  him  aside  like  a  book  whose  contents 
she  had  read. 

"  You  knew  my  history.  I  had  told  you  that  I  grew  up 
in  the  meadow  with  the  horses  and  had  gained  the  little  I 
knew  by  my  own  longing.  I  would  have  been  deeply  grate- 
ful, if  you  had  released  me  from  the  ban  of  ignorance  and 
quenched  the  yearning  which  those  who  are  half  educated  al- 
ways feel  for  the  treasures  of  culture,  of  which  they  know  a 
little,  just  enough  to  show  them  what  they  lack.  But  when- 
ever I  sought  to  discuss  such  subjects  with  you,  you  impa- 
tiently made  me  feel  my  shortcomings,  and  this  shamed  and  in- 
timidated me.  So  I  constantly  deteriorated  in  my  lonely  life 
— grew  more  savage,  instead  of  more  cultivated.  Do  you 
know  what  is  the  hardest  punishment  which  can  be  inflicted 
upon  criminals  ?  Solitary  confinement.  It  can  be  imposed 
for  a  short  time  only,  because  they  go  mad.  Since  the  child 
and  Josepha  died,  I  have  been  one  of  those  unfortunates,  and 
you — did  not  even  write  me  a  line,  had  no  word  for  me  !  I  felt 
that  my  mind  was  gradually  becoming  darkened  !  Woman, 
even  if  you  had  power  over  life  and  death — you  must  not 
murder  my  soul,  you  have  no  right  to  that — even  the  law 
slays  the  body  only,  not  the  soul.  And  where  it  imposes  the 
death  penalty,  it  provides  that  the  torture  shall  be  shortened 
as  much  as  possible.  You  are  more  cruel  than  the  law — for 
you  destroy  your  victim  slowly—intellectually  and  physi- 
cally." 

"  Terrible  !"  murmured  the  countess. 

"  Ay,  it  is  terrible!  You  worldlings  come  and  entice  and 
sigh  and  kiss  the  hem  of  our  robes,  as  long  as  the  delusion  of 


336  ON    THE    CROSS. 

your  excited  imagination  lasts,  and  your  delusion  infects  us 
till  we  at  last  believe  ourselves  that  we  are  gods — and  then 
you  thrust  us  headlong  into  the  depths.  Here  you  strew  the 
miasma  of  the  mania  for  greatness  and  vanity,  yonder  money 
and  the  seeds  of  avarice — there  again  you  wished  to  sow  your 
culture,  tear  us  from  our  ignorance,  and  but  half  complete 
your  work.  Then  you  wonder  because  we  become  misshapen, 
sham,  artificial  creatures,  comedians,  speculators,  misunder- 
stood geniuses — everything  in  the  world  except  true  children 
of  Ammergau  !"  He  wiped  his  forehead,  as  if  it  were  bleed- 
ing from  the  scratches  of  thorns.  "  I  was  a  type  of  my  peo- 
ple when,  still  a  simple  shepherd  boy,  I  was  brought  from  my 
herd  to  act  the  Christ,  when  in  timid  amazement,  I  suddenly  felt 
stirring  within  me  powers  of  which  I  had  never  dreamed — and 
I  am  so  once  more  in  my  wretchedness,  my  mental  conflicts, 
my  marred  life.  I  shall  be  so  at  last  in  my  defeat  or  victory — 
as  God  is  gracious  to  me.  And  since  everything  has  deserted 
me — since  I  saw  Josepha,  the  last  thing  left  me  of  Ammergau, 
lying  in  her  coffin — since  then  it  has  seemed  as  if  from  her 
grave,  and  that  of  all  my  happiness,  my  home,  my  betrayed, 
abandoned  home,  once  more  rose  before  me,  and  I  felt  a 
strange  yearning  for  the  soil  to  which  I  have  a  right,  the  earth 
where  1  belong.  Ah,  only  when  the  outside  world  abandons 
us  do  we  know  what  home  is  !  Unfortunately  I  forgot  it  long 
enough,  while  I  believed  that  you  loved  and  needed  me.  Now 
that  I  know  that  you  no  longer  care  for  me — the  matter  is  very 
different !  Like  a  true  peasant,  I  believed  that  I  had  only 
duties,  no  rights,  but  in  my  loneliness  I  have  pondered  over 
many  things,  and  so  at  last  perceived  that  you,  too,  had  duties 
and  expected  more  from  me  than  I  can  honorably  endure ! 
That  I  bore  it  so  long  gave  you  a  right  to  despise  me,  for  the 
husband  who  sits  angrily  in  a  corner  and  sees  his  wife  daily 
betray,  deny,  and  mock  him — deserves  no  better  fate.  So  I 
have  come  to  ask  what  you  intend  and  to  tell  you  my  re- 
solve." 

"  What  do  you  desire  ?" 

"  That  you  will  go  with  me  to  Ammergau,  that  you  will 
cast  aside  the  wealth,  distinction,  and  splendor  which  I  was  not 
permitted  to  share  with  you,  and  in  exchange  accept  with  me 
my  scanty  earnings,  my  simplicity,  my  honest,  plebeian  name. 


PARTING,  337 

For,  poor  and  humble  as  I  am,  I  am  not  so  contemptible  in 
the  eyes  of  Him,  who  bestowed  upon  me  the  dignity  and 
honor  of  personating  His  divine  Son,  that  you  need  feel 
ashamed  to  be  my  wife  in  the  true  Christian  meaning." 

The  countess  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  You  anticipate 
me,"  she  answered,  blushing.  "  I  see  that  you  feel  the  un- 
tenableness  of  our  relation.  Your  ultimatum  is  a  proof  that 
you  will  have  strength  to  do  what  is  inevitable,  and  I  have 
delayed  so  long  only  from  consideration  for  you.  For — you 
know  as  well  as  I  that  I  could  never  assent  to  your  demand. 
It  will  be  a  sacred  duty,  so  long  as  you  live,  to  see  that  you 
want  for  nothing,  but  we  must /«/•/." 

Freyer  turned  pale.     "  Part  ?    We  must  part — for  ever  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Merciful  Heaven — is  nothing  sacred  to  you,  not  even 
the  bond  of  marriage  ?" 

"  You  know  that  I  am  a  Rationalist,  and  do  not  believe  in 
dogmas ;  as  such  I  hold  that  every  marriage  can  be  dissolved 
whenever  the  moral  conditions  under  which  it  was  formed 
prove  false.  Unfortunately  this  is  the  case  with  us.  You  did 
not  learn  to  accommodate  yourself  to  the  circumstances,  and 
you  never  will — the  conflict  has  increased  till  it  is  unendurable, 
we  cannot  understand  each  other,  so  our  marriage-bond  is 
spiritually  sundered.  Why  should  we  maintain  its  outward 
semblance  ?  I  have  lost  through  you  nine  years  of  my  life,  sac- 
rificed to  you  the  duties  imposed  by  my  rank,  by  renouncing 
marriage  with  a  man  of  equal  station.  Matters  have  now  pro- 
gressed so  far  that  I  shall  be  ruined  if  you  do  not  release  me  ! 
Will  you  nevertheless  cross  my  path  and  thrust  yourself  into 
my  sphere  ?" 

"  Oh  God — this  too !"  cried  Freyer  in  the  deepest  anguish. 
"  When  have  I  thrust  myself  into  your  sphere  ?  How,  where, 
have  I  crossed  your  path  ?  During  the  whole  period  of  my 
marriage  I  have  lived  alone  on  the  solitary  mountain  peak  as 
your  servant  Have  I  boasted  of  my  position  as  your  hus- 
band ?  I  waited  patiently  until  every  few  weeks,  and  later, 
every  few  months,  you  came  to  me.  I  disdained  all  the  gifts 
of  your  lavish  generosity,  it  was  my  pride  to  work  for  you  in 
return  for  the  morsel  of  food  I  ate.  I  asked  nothing  from 
your  wealth,  your  position,  took  no  heed,  like  others,  of  the 


338  ON   THE   CROSS. 

splendor  of  your  establishment.  I  wanted  nothing  from  you 
save  the  immortal  part.  I  was  the  poorest,  the  most  insignifi- 
cant of  all  your  servants !  My  sole  possession  was  your  love, 
and  that  I  was  forced  to  conceal  from  every  inquisitive  eye, 
like  a  theft,  in  order  to  avoid  the  scorn  of  my  fellow-citizens 
and  all  who  could  not  understand  the  relation  in  which  I  stood 
to  you.  But  this  disgrace  also  I  bore  in  silence,  when  a  word 
would  have  vindicated  me — bore  it,  that  I  might  not  drag  you 
down  from  your  brilliant  position  to  mine — and  you  call  that 
thrusting  myself  into  your  sphere  ?  I  will  grant  that  I  gradu- 
ally became  morose  and  embittered  and  by  my  ill-temper  and 
reproaches  deterred  you  more  and  more  from  coming,  but  I 
am  only  human  and  was  forced  to  bear  things  beyond  human 
endurance.  The  intention  was  good,  though  the  execution 
might  have  been  faulty.  I  lost  your  love — I  lost  my  child — 
I  lost  my  faithful  companion,  Josepha,  yet  I  bore  all  in  si- 
lence !  I  saw  you  revelling  in  the  whirl  of  fashionable  society, 
saw  you  admired  by  others  and  forget  me,  but  I  bore  it — be- 
cause I  loved  you  a  thousand  times  better  than  myself  and 
did  not  wish  to  cause  you  pain.  I  often  thought  of  secretly 
vanishing  from  your  life,  like  a  shadow  which  did  not  belong 
there.  But  the  inviolability  of  the  marriage-bond  held  me, 
and  I  wished  to  try  once  more,  by  the  power  of  the  vow  you 
swore  at  the  altar,  to  lead  you  back  to  your  duty,  for  I  cannot 
dissolve  the  sacrament  which  unites  us,  and  which  you  volun- 
tarily accepted  with  me.  If  it  does  not  bind  you — it  still  binds 
me  !  I  am  your  husband,  and  shall  remain  so ;  if  you  break  the 
bond  you  must  answer  for  it  to  God;  as  for  me,  I  shall  keep 
it — unto  death !" 

"  That  would  be  a  needless  sacrifice,  which  neither  church 
nor  state  would  require.  I  will  not  release  myself  and  leave 
you  bound.  You  argue  from  a  mistaken  belief  that  we  were 
legally  married — it  is  time  to  explain  the  error,  both  on  your 
account  and  mine.  You  speak  of  a  vow  which  I  made  you 
before  the  altar,  pray  remember  that  we  have  never  stood  be- 
fore one." 

"  Never  ?"  muttered  Freyer,  and  the  vein  on  his  forehead 
swelled  with  anger. 

"  Was  the  breakfast-table  of  the  Prankenberg  pastor  an 
altar  ?" 


PARTING.  339 

"  No,  but  wherever  two  human  beings  stand  before  a 
priest  in  the  name  of  God,  there  is  a  viewless  altar." 

"  Those  are  subjective  Catholic  opinions  which  I  do  not 
understand — I  do  not  consider  myself  married,  and  you  need 
not  do  so  either." 

"  Not  married  ?    Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  ?" 

"  What  I  must  say,  to  loose  your  bonds  as  well  as  mine" 

"  Good  Heavens,  what  will  it  avail  if  you  loose  my  bonds 
and  at  the  same  time  cut  an  artery  so  that  I  bleed  to  death  ? 
No,  no,  you  cannot  be  so  cruel.  You  cannot  be  in  earnest. 
Omnipotent  Father — you  did  not  say  it,  take  back  the  words. 
Lord,  forgive  her,  she  does  not  know  what  she  is  doing !  Oh, 
take  back  those  words — I  will  not  believe  that  my  wife,  my 
dear  wife,  can  be  so  wicked !" 

"  Moderate  your  expressions  !  I  guarantee  my  standpoint ; 
ask  whom  you  choose,  you  will  hear  that  we  are  not  mar- 
ried !" 

Freyer  rushed  up  to  her  and  seized  her  by  the  shoulders, 
shaking  her  as  a  tempest  shakes  a  young  birch-tree.  "  Not 
married — do  you  know  then  what  you  are!"  He  waited 
vainly  for  an  answer,  he  seemed  fairly  crazed.  "  Shall  I  tell 
you,  shall  I  ?  Then  for  nine  years  you  were  a " 

"  Do  not  finish !"  shrieked  the  countess,  wrenching  herself 
with  a  desperate  effort  from  the  terrible  embrace  and  hurling 
him  from  her. 

"  Yes,  I  will  finish,  and  you  deserve  that  the  whole  world 
should  hear  and  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  you.  I  ought  to 
shout  to  all  the  winds  of  Heaven  that  the  Countess  Wildenau, 
who  is  too  proud  to  be  called  a  poor  man's  wife,  was  not  too 
proud  to  be  his " 

"  Traitor,  ungrateful,  dishonorable  traitor !  Is  this  your 
return  for  my  love  ?  Take  a  knife  and  thrust  it  into  my  heart, 
it  would  be  more  seemly  than  to  threaten  me  with  degrada- 
tion !"  She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  and  raised  her 
hand  as  if  to  take  an  oath  :  "  Accursed  be  the  hour  I  raised 
you  from  the  dust  to  my  side.  Curses  on  the  false  humanity 
which  strove  to  efface  the  distinctions  of  rank,  curses  on  the 
murmur  of  '  the  eternal  rights  of  man '  which  removes  the  fet- 
ters from  brutishness,  that  it  may  set  its  foot  upon  the  neck  of 
culture !  It  is  like  the  child  which  opens  the  door  to  the  whiu- 


340  ON   THE   CROSS. 

ing  wolf  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  brute.  Yes,  take  yourself 
out  of  my  life,  gloomy  shadow  which  I  conjured  from  those 
seething  depths  in  which  ruin  is  wrought  for  us — take  your- 
self away,  you  have  no  longer  any  part  in  me  ! — Your  right  is 
doubly,  trebly  forfeited,  your  spell  is  broken,  your  strength  re- 
coils from  the  shield  of  a  noble  spirit,  under  whose  protection 
I  stand.  Dare  to  lay  hands  on  me  again  and — you  will  insult 
the  betrothed  bride  of  the  Duke  of  Barnheim  and  must  ac- 
count to  him." 

A  cry — a  heavy  fall — Freyer  lay  senseless. 

The  countess  timidly  stroked  the  pallid  face — a  strange 
memory  stole  over  her — thus  he  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground 
when  he  was  nailed  to  the  cross.  She  could  not  help  looking 
at  him  again  and  again :  Oh,  that  all  this  should  be  a  lie ! 
Those  features — that  noble  brow,  on  which  the  majesty  of  suf- 
fering was  throned — the  very  image  of  the  Saviour !  Yet  only 
an  image,  a  mask !  She  looked  away,  she  would  gaze  no 
longer,  she  would  not  again  fall  a  victim  to  the  old  delusion — 
she  would  not  let  herself  be  softened  by  the  wonderful,  delu- 
sive face !  But  what  was  she  to  do  ?  If  she  called  her  ser- 
vants, she  would  be  the  talk  of  the  whole  city  on  the  morrow. 
She  must  aid  him,  try  to  restore  him  to  consciousness  alone. 
Yet  if  she  now  roused  him  from  the  merciful  stupor,  if  the 
grief  and  rage  which  had  overwhelmed  him  should  break  forth 
again — would  he  not  murder  her  ?  Was  it  strange  that  she  re- 
mained so  calm  in  the  presence  of  this  thought  ?  A  con- 
temptuous indifference  to  death  had  taken  possession  of  her: 
"  If  he  kills  me,  he  has  a  right  to  do  so." 

She  was  too  lofty  to  shun  punishment  which  she  had  de- 
served, though  it  were  her  death.  So  she  awaited  her  fate. 

She  brought  a  little  bottle  filled  with  a  pungent  essence 
from  her  sleeping-room,  and  poured  a  few  drops  into  his 
mouth.  It  was  long  ere  he  gave  any  sign  of  life — it  seemed 
as  though  the  soul  was  reluctant  to  awake,  as  if  it  would  not 
return  to  consciousness.  At  last  he  opened  his  eyes; — they 
rested  as  coldly  on  the  little  trembling  hand  which  was  busied 
about  him  as  if  he  had  never  clasped  it,  never  kissed  it,  never 
pressed  it  to  his  throbbing  heart.  The  storm  had  spent  its 
fury — he  was  calm ! 

The  countess  had  again  been  mistaken  in  him,  as  usual — 


IN   THE   DESERTED   HOUSE.  341 

his  conduct  was  always  unlike  her  anticipations.  He  rose  as 
quickly  as  his  strength  permitted,  passed  his  hand  over  his  dis- 
ordered hair,  and  looked  for  his  hat :  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  startled  you — forget  this  scene,  which  I  might  have 
spared  you  and  myself,  had  I  known  what  I  do  now.  I  deeply 
lament  that  the  error  which  clouded  your  life  has  lasted  so 
long!" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  the  words  fell  from  her  lips  with  the 
sharp  sound  of  a  diamond  cutting  glass  :  "  Yes,  it  was  not 
•worth  it !" 

Freyer  turned  and  gave  her  one  last  look — she  felt  it 
through  her  lowered  lids.  She  had  sunk  on  the  sofa  and  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  ground.  A  death-like  chill  ran  through  her 
limbs — she  waited  in  her  position  as  if  paralysed.  All  was  still 
for  a  moment,  then  she  heard  a  light  step  cross  the  soft  carpet 
of  the  room — and  when  she  looked  up,  the  door  had  closed 
behind  Joseph  Freyer. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


IN   THE   DESERTED    HOUSE. 

THE  night  had  passed,  day  was  shining  through  the  closed 
curtains — but  Countess  Wildenau  still  sat  in  the  same  spot 
where  Freyer  had  left  her.  Yes,  he  had  gone  "  silently,  noise- 
lessly as  a  shadow" — perhaps  vanished  from  her  life,  as  he  had 
said !  She  did  not  know  what  she  felt,  she  would  fain  have  re- 
lieved her  stupor  by  tears,  but  she  dared  not  weep — why  should 
she  ?  Everything  was  proceeding  exactly  as  she  wished.  True, 
she  had  been  harsh,  too  severe  and  harsh,  and  words  had 
been  uttered  by  both  which  neither  could  forgive  the  other ! 
Yet  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  bond  between  them  would 
not  be  sundered  without  a  storm — why  was  her  heart  so 
heavy,  as  if  some  misfortune  had  happened — greater  than 
aught  which  could  befall  her.  Tears !  What  would  the  duke 
think  ?  It  would  be  an  injustice  to  him.  And  it  was  not  true 
that  she  felt  anything;  she  had  no  emotion  whatever,  neither 
for  the  vanished  man  nor  for  the  duke  !  Honor — honor  was 
the  only  thing  which  could  still  be  saved  !  But — his  sudden 


342  ON   THE    CROSS. 

silence  when  she  mentioned  her  betrothal  to  the  duke — his 
going  thus,  without  a  farewell — without  a  word !  He  despised 
her — she  was  no  longer  worthy  of  him.  That  was  the  cause 
of  his  sudden  calmness.  There  was  a  crushing  grandeur  and 
dignity  in  this  calmness  after  the  outbursts  of  fierce  despair. 
The  latter  expressed  a  conflict,  the  former  a  victory — and  she 
was  vanquished,  hers  was  the  shame,  the  pangs  of  conscience, 
and  a  strange,  inexplicable  grief. 

So  she  sat  pondering  all  night  long,  always  imagining  that 
she  had  seen  what  she  had  not  witnessed,  the  last  look  he  had 
fixed  upon  her,  and  then — his  noiseless  walk  through  the 
room.  It  seemed  as  though  time  had  stopped  at  that  moment, 
and  she  was  compelled,  all  through  the  night,  to  experience 
that  one  instant ! 

Some  one  tapped  lightly  on  the  door,  and  the  maid  en- 
tered with  a  haggard  face.  "  I  only  wanted  to  ask,"  she  said, 
in  a  weary,  faint  tone,  "  whether  I  might  go  to  bed  a  little 
while.  I  have  waited  all  night  long  for  Your  Highness  to 
ring—" 

"  Why,  have  you  been  waiting  for  me  ?"  said  the  countess, 
rising  slowly  from  the  sofa.  "  I  did  not  know  it  was  so  late. 
What  time  is  it  ?" 

"  Nearly  six  o'clock.  But  Your  Highness  looks  so  pale ! 
Will  you  not  permit  me  to  put  you  to  bed  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  good  Nannie,  take  me  to  my  bedroom.  I  can- 
not walk,  my  feet  are  numb." 

"  You  should  lie  down  at  once  and  try  to  get  warm.  You 
are  as  cold  as  ice !"  And  the  maid,  really  alarmed  by  the 
helplessness  of  her  usually  haughty  mistress,  helped  the  droop- 
ing figure  to  her  room. 

The  countess  allowed  herself  to  be  undressed  without  re- 
sistance, sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  as  if  paralysed  and 
waiting  for  the  maid  to  lift  her  in.  "  I  thank  you,"  she  said 
in  a  more  gentle  tone  than  the  woman  had  ever  heard  from 
her  lips,  as  the  maid  voluntarily  rubbed  the  soles  of  her  feet. 
Her  head  instantly  sank  upon  the  pillows,  which  bore  a  large 
embroidered  monogram,  surmounted  by  a  coronet.  When  her 
feet  at  last  grew  warm,  she  seemed  to  fall  asleep,  and  the  maid 
left  the  room.  But  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  was  not  asleep, 


IN   THE    DESERTED    HOUSE.*  343 

she  was  merely  exhausted,  and,  while  her  body  rested,  she 
constantly  beheld  one  image,  felt  one  grief/ 

The  maid  had  determined  not  to  cduse  her  mistress,  and 
left  her  undisturbed.  dr 

At  last,  late  in  the  morning,  th«Mveary  woman  sank  into 
an  uneasy  slumber,  whence  she  did  not  wake  until  the  sun 
was  high  in  the  heavens. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  felt  as  if  she  was  paralysed 
in  every  limb,  but  attributed  this  to  the  terrible  impressions  of 
the  previous  day,  which  would  have  shaken  even  the  strong- 
est nature. 

She  rang  the  bell  for  the  maid  and  rose.  She  walked 
slowly,  it  is  true,  and  with  great  effort — but  she  did walk. 
After  she  had  been  dressed  and  her  breakfast  was  served  she 
wrote : 

"The  footman  Franz  is  dismissed  for  rude  treatment  of 
the  steward  Freyer,  and  is  not  to  appear  in  my  presence  again. 
The  intendant  is  to  settle  the  matter  of  wages. 

COUNTESS  WILDENAU." 

Another  servant  now  brought  in  a  letter  on  a  silver  tray. 

The  countess'  hand  trembled  as  she  took  it — the  envelope 
was  one  of  those  commonly  used  by  Freyer,  but  the  writing 
was  not  his. 

"  Is  any  one  waiting  for  an  answer  ?"  she  asked  in  a  hol- 
low tone. 

"  No,  Your  Highness,  it  was  brought  by  a  Griess  wood- 
cutter." 

The  countess  opened  the  letter — it  was  from  the  maid-servant 
at  the  hunting  castle,  and  contained  only  the  news  that  the  stew- 
ard had  left  suddenly  and  the  servants  did  not  know  what  to 
do. 

The  countess  sat  motionless  for  a  moment  unable  to  utter 
a  word.  Everything  seemed  whirling  around  her  in  a  dizzy 
circle,  she  saw  nothing  save  dimly,  as  if  through  a  veil,  the 
servant  clearing  away  the  breakfast. 

"  Let  old  Martin  put  the  horses  in  the  carriage,"  she  said, 
hoarsely,  at  last. 

How  the  minutes  passed  before  she  entered  it — how  it  was 
possible  for  her  to  assume,  in  the  presence  of  the  maid,  the 
quiet  bearing  of  the  mistress  of  the  estate,  who  "  must  see 


344  ON   THE    CROSS. 

that  things  were  going  on  right,"  she  did  not  know.  Now 
she  sat  with  compressed  lips,  holding  her  breath  that  she 
might  seem  calm  in  her  own  eyes.  What  will  she  find  on  the 
height  ?  Two  graves  of  the  past,  and  the  empty  abode  of  a 
former  happiness.  She  fancied  that  a  dark  wing  brushed  by 
the  carriage  window,  as  if  the  death  angel  were  flying  by  with 
the  cup  of  wormwood  of  which  Freyer  had  once  spoken ! 

She  had  a  horror  of  the  deserted  house,  the  spectres  of  soli- 
tude and  grief,  which  the  vanished  man  might  have  left  behind. 
When  a  house  is  dead,  it  must  be  closed  by  the  last  survivor, 
and  this  is  always  a  sorrowful  task.  But  if  he  himself  has 
driven  love  forth,  he  will  cross  the  deserted  threshold  with  a 
lagging  step,  for  the  ghost  of  his  own  act  will  stare  at  him 
everywhere  from  the  silent  rooms. 

Evening  had  closed  in,  and  the  shadows  of  the  mountain 
were  already  gathering  around  the  house,  from  whose  windows 
no  loving  eye  greeted  her.  The  carriage  stopped.  No  one 
came  to  meet  her — everything  was  lifeless  and  deserted.  Her 
heart  sank  as  she  alighted. 

"  Martin — drive  to  the  stable  and  see  if  you  can  find  the 
maid  servant,"  said  the  countess  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  afraid  of 
rousing  some  shape  of  horror.  Martin  did  not  utter  a  word, 
his  good  natured  face  was  unusually  grave  as  he  drove  off 
around  the  house  in  the  direction  of  the  stables. 

The  countess  stood  alone  before  the  locked  door.  The 
evening  wind  swept  through  the  trees  and  shook  the  boughs 
of  the  pines.  A  few  broken  branches  swayed  and  nodded 
like  crippled  arms;  they  were  the  ones  from  which  Freyer 
had  taken  the  evergreen  for  the  child's  coffin.  At  that  time 
they  were  stiff  with  ice,  now  the  sap,  softened  by  the  Spring 
rain,  was  dripping  from  them.  Did  she  understand  what  the 
boughs  were  trying  to  tell  her  ?  Were  her  cheeks  wet  by  the 
rain  or  by  tears?  She  did  not  know.  She  only  felt  unutter- 
ably deserted.  She  stood  on  the  moss-grown  steps,  shut  out 
from  her  own  house,  and  no  voice  answered  her  call. 

A  cross  towered  above  the  tree-tops,  it  was  on  the  steeple 
of  the  old  chapel  where  they  both  lay — Josepha  and  the  child. 
A  bird  of  prey  soared  aloft  from  it  and  then  vanished  in  the 
neighboring  grove  to  shield  its  plumage  from  the  rain.  It  had 
its  nest  there. 


IN   THE   DESERTED    HOUSE.  345 

Now  afl  was  still  again — as  if  dead,  only  the  cloud  rising 
above  the  wood  poured  its  contents  on  the  Spring  earth.  At 
last  footsteps  approached.  It  was  the  girl  bringing  the  keys. 

"  I  beg  the  countess'  pardon — I  did  not  expect  Your  High- 
ness so  late,  I  was  in  the  stable  unlocking  the  door,"  she  said. 
Then  she  handed  her  the  bunch  of  keys.  "  This  one  with  the 
label  is  the  key  of  the  steward's  room,  he  made  me  promise  not 
to  give  it  to  anybody  except  the  countess,  if  she  should  come 
again." 

"  Bring  a  light — it  is  growing  dark,"  replied  the  countess, 
entering  the  sitting-room. 

"  I  hope  Your  Highness  will  excuse  it,"  said  the  girl.  "  Every- 
thing is  still  just  as  it  was  left  after  the  funerals  of  Josepha 
and  the  child.  Herr  Freyer  wouldn't  allow  me  to  clear  any- 
thing away."  She  left  the  room  to  get  a  lamp.  There  lay 
the  dry  pine  branches,  there  stood  the  crucifix  with  the  candles, 
which  had  burned  low  in  their  sockets.  This  for  weeks  had 
been  his  sole  companionship.  Poor,  forsaken  one !  cried  a 
voice  in  the  countess'  heart,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  her 
limbs  as  she  saw  on  the  sofa  a  black  pall  left  from  Josepha's 
funeral.  It  seemed  as  if  it  were  Josepha  herself  lying  there, 
^  if  the  black  form  must  rise  at  her  entrance  and  approach 
threateningly.  Horror  seized  her,  and  she  hurried  out  to  meet 
the  girl  who  was  coming  with  a  light.  The  steward's  room 
was  one  story  higher,  adjoining  her  own  apartments.  She 
went  up  the  stairs  with  an  uncertain  tread,  leaving  the  girl 
below.  She  needed  no  witness  for  what  she  expected  to  find 
there. 

She  thrust  the  key  into  the  lock  with  a  trembling  hand 
and  opened  the  door.  Sorrowful  duty !  Wherever  she  turned 
in  this  house  of  mourning,  she  was  under  the  ban  of  her  own 
guilt.  Wherever  she  entered  one  of  the  empty  rooms,  it 
seemed  as  if  whispering,  wailing  spirits  separated  and  crept 
into  the  corners — to  watch  until  the  moment  came  when  they 
could  rush  forth  as  an  avenging  army. 

At  her  entrance  the  movement  was  communicated  through 
all  the  boards  of  the  old  floor  until  it  really  seemed  as  if  view- 
less feet  were  walking  by  her  side.  For  a  moment  she  stood 
still,  holding  her  breath — she  had  never  before  noticed  this 
effect  of  her  own  steps,  she  had  never  been  here  alone.  Her 


346  ON   THE   CROSS. 

sleeping-room  was  beside  her  husband's — the  door  stood  open 
— he  must  have  been  in  there  to  bid  farewell  before  going 
away.  She  moved  hesitatingly  a  few  steps  forward  and  cast  a 
timid  glance  within.  The  two  beds,  standing  side  by  side, 
looked  like  two  coffins.  She  felt  as  if  she  beheld  her  own 
corpse  lying  there — the  corpse  of  the  former  Countess  Wilde- 
nau,  Freyer's  wife.  The  woman  standing  here  now  was  a 
different  person — and  her  murderess !  Yet  she  grieved  for  her 
and  still  felt  her  griefs  and  her  death-struggle.  She  hastily 
closed  and  bolted  the  door — as  if  the  dead  woman  within 
might  come  out  and  call  her  to  an  account. 

Then  she  turned  her  dragging  steps  toward  Freyer's  writ- 
ing-desk, for  that  is  always  the  tabernacle  where  a  lonely  soul 
conceals  its  secrets.  And — there  lay  a  large  envelope  bearing 
the  address:  "To  the  Countess  Wildenau.  To  be  opened 
by  her  own  hands ! " 

She  placed  the  lamp  on  the  table,  and  sat  down  to  read. 
She  no  longer  dreaded  the  ghosts  of  her  own  acts — he  was 
with  her  and  though  he  had  raged  yesterday  in  the  madness 
of  his  anguish — he  would  protect  her ! 

She  opened  the  envelope.  Two  papers  fell  into  her  hands. 
Her  marriage  certificate  and  a  paper  in  Freyer's  writing. 
The  lamp  burned  unsteadily  and  smoked,  or  were  her  eyes 
dim  ?  Now  she  no  longer  saw  the  mistakes  in  writing,  now 
she  saw  between  the  clumsy  characters  a  noble,  grieving  soul 
which  had  gazed  at  her  yesterday  from  a  pair  of  dark  eyes — 
for  the  last  time !  Clasping  her  hands  over  the  sheet,  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  them  like  a  penitent  Magdalene  upon 
the  gospel.  It  was  to  her  also  a  gospel — of  pain  and  love.  It 
ran  as  follows : 
"  COUNTESS  : 

"  I  bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell,  and  enclose  the  mar- 
riage certificate,  that  you  may  have  no  fear  of  my  causing 
you  any  annoyance  by  it — 

"  Everything  else  which  I  owe  to  your  kindness  I  restore, 
as  I  can  make  no  farther  use  of  it.  I  am  sincerely  sorry  that 
you  were  dissappointed  in  me — I  told  you  that  I  was  not  He 
whom  I  personated,  but  a  poor,  plain  man,  but  you  would 
not  believe  it,  and  made  the  experiment  with  me.  It  was  a 
great  misfortune  for  both.  For  you  can  never  be  happy,  on 


IN    THE    DESERTED    HOUSE.  347 

account  of  the  sin  you  wish  to  commit  against  me.  I  will 
pray  God  to  release  you  from  me — in  a  way  which  will  spare 
you  from  taking  this  heavy  sin  upon  you — but  I  have  still  one 
act  of  penance  to  perform  toward  my  home,  to  which  I  have 
been  faithless,  that  it  may  still  forgive  me  in  this  life.  I  hear 
that  the  Passion  Play  cannot  be  performed  in  Ammergau 
next  summer,  because  there  is  no  Christus — that  would  be 
terrible  for  our  poor  parish !  I  will  try  whether  I  can  help 
them  out  of  the  difficulty  if  they  will  receive  me  and  not  re- 
pulse me  as  befits  the  renegade"  (Here  the  writing  was 
blurred  by  tears)  "  Only  wait,  for  the  welfare  of  your  own 
soul,  until  the  performances  are  over,  and  I  have  done  my 
duty  to  the  community.  Then  God  will  be  merciful  and 
open  a  way  for  us  all. 

Your  grateful 

JOSEPH  FREYER. 

Postscript : — If  it  is  possible,  forgive  me  for  all  I  did  to 
offend  you  yesterday." 

There,  in  brief,  untutored  words  was  depicted  the  martyr- 
dom of  a  soul,  which  had  passed  through  the  school  of  suffering 
to  the  utmost  perfection !  The  most  eloquent,  polished  descrip- 
tion of  his  feelings  would  have  had  less  power  to  touch  the 
countess'  heart  than  these  simple,  trite  expressions — she  her- 
self could  not  have  explained  why  it  was  the  helplessness  of 
the  uncultured  man  who  had  trusted  to  her  generosity,  which 
spoke  from  these  lines  with  an  unconscious  reproach,  which 
pierced  deeper  than  any  complaint.  And  she  had  no  answer 
to  this  reproach,  save  the  tears  which  now  flowed  constantly 
from  her  eyes. 

xiaying  her  head  upon  the  page,  she  wept — at  last  wept. 

She  remained  long  in  this  attitude.  A  sorrowful  peace 
surrounded  her,  nothing  stirred  within  or  without,  the  spirits 
seemed  reconciled  by  what  they  now  beheld.  The  dead 
Countess  Wildenau  in  the  next  room  had  risen  noiselessly,  she 
was  no  longer  there!  She  was  flying  far — far  beyond  the 
mountains — seeking — seeking  the  lost  husband,  the  poor,  in- 
nocent husband,  who  had  resigned  for  her  sake  all  that  con- 
stitutes human  happiness  and  human  dignity,  anxious  for  one 
thing  only,  her  deliverance  from  what,  in  his  childlike  view  of 
religion,  he  could  not  fail  to  consider  a  heavy,  unforgivable 


348  ON  THE   CROSS. 

sin !  She  was  flying  through  a  broad  portal  in  the  air — it  was 
the  rainbow  formed  of  the  tears  of  love  shed  by  sundered 
human  hearts  for  thousands  of  years.  Even  so  looked  the 
rainbow,  which  had  arched  above  her  head  when  she  stood  on 
the  peak  with  the  royal  son  of  the  mountains,  high  above  the 
embers  of  the  forest,  through  which  he  had  borne  her,  ruling 
the  flames.  They  had  spared  him — but  she  had  had  no  pity 
— they  had  crouched  at  his  feet  like  fiery  lions  before  their 
tamer,  but  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  fought  trampled  on  him. 
Yet  above  them  arched  the  rainbow,  the  symbol  of  peace  and 
reconcilation,  and  under  this  she  had  made  the  oath  which 
she  now  intended  to  break.  The  dead  Countess  Wildenau, 
however,  saw  the  gleaming  bow  again,  and  was  soaring 
through  it  to  her  husband,  for  she  had  no  farther  knowledge 
of  earthly  things,  she  knew  only  the  old,  long  denied,  all-con- 
quering love ! 

Suddenly  the  clock  on  the  writing-table  began  to  strike, 
the  penitent  dreamer  started.  It  was  striking  nine.  The 
clock  was  still  going — he  had  wound  it.  It  was  a  gift  from 
her.  He  had  left  all  her  gifts,  he  wrote.  That  would  be 
terrible.  Surely  he  had  not  gone  without  any  means  ?  The 
key  of  the  writing-table  was  in  the  lock.  She  opened  the 
drawer.  There  lay  all  his  papers,  books,  the  rest  of  the 
housekeeping  money,  and  accounts,  all  in  the  most  conscien- 
tious order,  and  beside  them — oh,  that  she  must  see  it — a 
little  purse  containing  his  savings  and  a  savings-bank  book, 
which  she  herself  had  once  jestingly  pressed  upon  him.  The 
little  book  was  wrapped  in  paper,  on  which  was  written :  "  To 
keep  the  graves  of  my  dear  ones  in  Countess  Wildenau's 
chapel." 

"  Oh,  you  great,  noble  heart,  which  I  never  understood !" 
sobbed  the  guilty  woman,  restoring  the  little  volume  to  its 
place. 

But  she  could  not  rest,  she  must  search  on  and  on,  she 
must  know  whether  he  had  left  her  as  a  beggar  ?  Against  the 
wall  beside  the  writing-table,  stood  a  costly  old  armoire, 
richly  ornamented,  which  had  seen  many  generations  of  the 
Prankenbergs  come  and  pass  away.  Madeleine  von  Wildenau 
turned  the  lock  with  an  effort — there  hung  all  his  clothing, 
just  as  he  had  received  it  from  her  or  purchased  it  with  his 


IN   THE   DESERTED    HOUSE.  349 

own  wages ;  nothing  was  missing  save  the  poor  little  coat,  hat 
and  cane,  with  which  he  had  left  Ammergau  with  the  owner 
of  a  fortune  numbering  millions.  He  had  wandered  forth 
again  as  poor  as  he  had  come. 

Sinking  on  her  knees,  she  buried  her  face,  overwhelmed 
with  grief  and  shame,  in  her  clasped  hands. 

"  Freyer,  Freyer,  I  did  not  want  this — not  this !"  Now  the 
long  repressed  grief  which  she  had  inflicted  upon  herself  burst 
forth  unrestrained.  Here  she  could  shriek  it  out;  here  no  one 
heard  her.  "Oh,  that  you  should  leave  me  thus — unreconciled, 
without  a  farewell,  with  an  aching  heart — not  even  protected 
from  want !  And  I  let  you  go  without  one  kind  word — I  did 
not  even  return  your  last  glance.  Was  it  possible  that  I 
could  do  it  ?" 

The  old  Prankenberg  lion  on  the  coat  of  arms  on  the  ar- 
moire  had  doubtless  seen  many  mourners  scan  the  garments 
whose  owners  rested  under  the  sod — but  no  one  of  all  the 
women  of  that  failing  race  had  wept  so  bitterly  over  the  con- 
tents of  the  armoire — as  this  last  of  her  name. 

The  candle  had  burned  low  in  the  socket,  a  star  glinting 
through  the  torn  clouds  shone  through  the  uncurtained 
windows.  Beyond  the  forest  the  first  flashes  of  spring  light- 
ning darted  to  and  fro. 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  rose  and  stood  for  a  while  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  pondering.  What  did  she  want  here? 
She  had  nothing  more  to  find  in  the  empty  house.  The  dead 
Countess  Wildenau  was  once  more  sleeping  in  the  adjoining 
room,  and  the  living  one  no  longer  belonged  to  herself.  Was 
it,  could  it  be  true,  that  she  had  thrust  out  the  peaceful  inmate 
of  this  house  ?  Thrust  him  forever  from  the  modest  home 
she  had  established  for  him  ?  "  Husband,  father  of  my  child, 
where  are  you  ?  "  No  answer  I  He  was  no  longer  hers !  He 
had  risen  from  the  humiliation  she  inflicted  upon  him,  he  had 
stripped  off  the  robe  of  servitude,  and  gone  forth,  scorning 
her  and  all  else — a  poor  but  free  man  ! 

She  must  return  to  the  slavery  of  her  own  guilt  and  of 
prosaic  existence,  while  he  went  farther  and  farther  away,  like 
a  vanishing  star.  She  felt  that  her  strength  was  failing,  she 
must  go,  or  she  would  sink  dying  in  this  place  of  woe — alone 
without  aid  or  care. 


35°  ON   THE    CROSS. 

She  folded  the  marriage  certificate  and  Freyer's  letter 
together,  and  without  another  glance  around  the  room — the 
ghost  of  her  awakened  conscience  was  stirring  again,  she  took 
the  dying  candle  and  hurried  down.  The  steps  again  creaked 
behind  her,  as  though  some  one  was  following  her  downstairs. 
She  had  ordered  the  carriage  at  nine,  it  must  have  been  wait- 
ing a  long  time.  Her  foot  faltered  at  the  door  of  the  sitting- 
room,  but  she  passed  on — it  was  impossible  for  her  to  enter  it 
again — she  called — but  the  maid-servant  had  gone  to  her 
work  in  the  stables — nothing  save  her  own  trembling  voice 
echoed  back  through  the  passages.  She  went  out.  The  car- 
riage was  standing  at  the  side  of  the  house.  The  rain  had 
ceased,  the  forest  was  slumbering  and  all  the  creatures  which 
animated  it  by  day  with  it. 

The  countess  locked  the  door.  "  Now  interweave  your 
boughs  and  shut  it  in !  "  she  said  to  the  briers  and  pines  which 
stood  closely  around  it.  "Spread  out  your  branches  and  com- 
pass it  with  an  impenetrable  hedge  that  no  one  may  find  it. 
The  Sleeping  Beauty  who  slumbers  here — nothing  must  ever 
rouse ! " 

CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE    "  WIESHERRLE." 

HIGH  above  the  rushing  Wildbach,  where  the  stream  bursts 
through  the  crumbling  rocks  and  in  its  fierce  rush  sends  heavy 
stones  grinding  over  one  another — a  man  lay  on  the  damp 
cliff  which  trembled  under  the  shock  of  the  falling  masses  of 
water.  The  rough  precipices,  dripping  with  spray,  pressed 
close  about  him,  shutting  him  into  the  cool,  moss-grown 
ravine,  through  which  no  patch  of  blue  sky  was  visible,  no 
sunbeam  stole. 

Here  the  wanderer,  deceived  in  everything,  lay  resting  on 
his  way  home.  With  his  head  propped  on  his  hand,  he  gazed 
steadfastly  down  into  the  swirl  of  the  foaming,  misty,  cease- 
less rush  of  the  falling  water !  On  the  rock  before  him  lay  a 
small  memorandum  book,  in  which  he  was  slowly  writing  sor- 
rowful words,  just  as  they  welled  from  his  soul — slowly  and 
sluggishly,  as  the  resin  oozes  from  the  gashed  trees.  Wher- 
ever a  human  heart  receives  a  deep,  fatal  wound,  the  poetry 


THE    "  WIESHERRLE."  35! 

latent  in  the  blood  of  the  people  streams  from  the  hurt.  All 
our  sorrowful  old  folk-songs  are  such  drops  of  the  heart's 
blood  of  the  people.  The  son  of  a  race  of  mountaineers  who 
sung  their  griefs  and  joys  was  composing  his  own  mournful 
wayfaring  ballad  for  not  one  of  those  which  he  knew  and  cher- 
ished in  his  memory  expressed  the  unutterable  grief  he  expe- 
rienced. He  did  not  know  how  he  wrote  it — he  was  ignorant 
of  rhyme  and  metre.  When  he  finished,  that  is,  when  he  had 
said  all  he  felt,  it  seemed  as  though  the  song  had  flown  to  him, 
as  the  seed  of  some  plant  is  blown  upon  a  barren  cliff,  takes 
root,  and  gro\vs  there. 

But  now,  after  he  had  created  the  form  of  the  verses,  he 
first  realized  the  full  extent  of  his  misery ! 

Hiding  the  little  book  in  his  pocket,  he  rose  to  follow  the 
toilsome  path  he  was  seeking  high  among  the  mountains 
where  there  were  only  a  few  scattered  homesteads,  and  he 
met  no  human  being. 

While  Countess  Wildenau  in  the  deserted  hunting-castle 
was  weeping  over  the  cast-off  garments  with  which  he  had 
flung  aside  the  form  of  a  servant,  the  free  man  was  striding 
over  the  heights,  fanned  by  the  night-breeze,  lashed  by  the 
rain  in  his  thin  coat — free — but  also  free  to  be  exposed  to 
grief,  to  the  elements — to  hunger!  Free — but  so  free  that  he 
had  not  even  a  roof  beneath  which  to  shelter  his  head  within 
four  protecting  walls. 

"  Both  love  and  faith  have  fled  for  aye, 
Like  chaff  by  wild  winds  swept  away- 
Naught,  naught  is  left  me  here  below 
Save  keen  remorse  and  endless  woe. 

•"  No  home  have  I  on  the  wide  earth — 
A  ragged  beggar  fare  I  forth, 
In  midnight  gloom,  by  tempests  met, 
Broken  my  staff,  my  star  has  set. 

*'  With  raiment  tattered  by  the  sleet, 
My  brain  scorched  by  the  sun's  fierce  heat. 
My  heart  torn  by  a  human  hand, 
A  shadow — I  glide  through  the  land. 

•"Homeward  I  turn,  white  is  my  hair, 
Of  love  and  faith  my  life  is  bare — 
Whoe'er  beholds  me  makes  the  sign 
Of  the  cross — God  save  a  fate  like  mine." 


352  ON   THE   CROSS. 

So  the  melancholy  melody  echoed  through  the  darkness  of 
the  night,  from  peak  to  peak  along  the  road  from  the  Griess 
to  Ammergau.  And  wherever  it  sounded,  the  birds  flew 
startled  from  the  trees  deeper  into  the  forest,  the  deer  fled  into 
the  thickets  and  listened,  the  child  in  the  cradle  started  and 
wept  in  its  sleep.  The  dogs  in  the  lonely  courtyards  barked 
loudly. 

"  That  was  no  human  voice,  it  was  a  shot  deer  or  an  owl " 
— the  peasants  said  to  their  trembling  wives,  listening  for  a 
time  to  the  ghostly,  wailing  notes  dying  faintly  away  till  all 
was  still  once  more — and  the  spectre  had  passed.  But  when 
morning  dawned  and  the  time  came  when  the  matin  bells 
drove  all  evil  spirits  away  the  song,  too,  ceased,  and  only  its 
prophecy  came  true.  Whoever  recognized  in  the  emaciated 
man,  with  hollow  eyes  and  cheeks,  the  Christus-Freyer  of 
Ammergau,  doubtless  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  terror,  ex- 
claiming: "Heaven  preserve  us!"  But  the  lighter  it  grew, 
the  farther  he  plunged  into  the  forest.  He  was  ashamed  to 
be  seen!  His  gait  grew  more  and  more  feeble,  his  garments 
more  shabby  by  his  long  walk  in  the  rain  and  wind. 

He  still  had  a  few  pennies  in  his  pocket — the  exact  sum 
he  possessed  when  he  left  Ammergau.  He  was  keeping  them 
for  a  night's  lodging,  which  he  must  take  once  during  the 
twenty-four  hours.  He  could  have  reached  Ammergau  easily 
by  noon — but  he  did  not  want  to  enter  it  in  broad  day  as  a 
ragged  beggar.  So  he  rested  by  day  and  walked  at  night. 

At  a  venerable  old  inn,  the  "  Shield,"  on  the  road  from 
Steingaden  to  Ammergau,  he  asked  one  of  the  servants  if  he 
might  lie  a  few  hours  on  the  straw  to  rest.  The  latter  hesi- 
tated before  granting  permission — the  man  looked  so  doubtful. 
At  last  he  said:  "Well,  I  won't  refuse  you,  but  see  that  you 
carry  nothing  off  when  you  go  away  from  here." 

Freyer  made  no  reply.  The  wrath  which  had  made  him 
hurl  the  lackey  from  the  countess'  door,  no  longer  surged 
within  him — now  it  was  his  home  which  was  punishing  him, 
speaking  to  him  in  her  rude  accents — let  her  say  what  she 
would,  he  accepted  it  as  a  son  receives  a  reproof  from  a 
mother.  He  hung  his  drenched  coat  to  dry  in  the  sun,  which 
now  shone  warmly  again,  then  slipped  into  the  barn  and  lay 
down  on  the  hay.  A  refreshing  slumber  embraced  him,  pov- 


THE    "WIESHERRLE."  253 

erty  and  humility  took  the  sorrowing  soul  into  their  maternal 
arms,  as  a  poor  man  picks  up  the  withered  blossom  the  rich 
one  has  carelessly  flung  aside,  and  carrying  it  home  makes  it 
bloom  again. 

Rest,  weary  soul !  You  no  longer  need  to  stretch  and  dis- 
tort the  noble  proportions  of  your  existence  to  fit  them  to  re- 
lations to  which  they  were  not  born.  You  need  be  nothing 
more  than  you  are,  a  child  of  the  people,  suckled  by  the 
sacred  breast  of  nature  and  can  always  return  there  without 
being  ashamed  of  it.  Poverty  and  lowliness  extend  their  pro- 
tecting mantle  over  you  and  hide  you  from  the  looks  of  scorn 
and  contempt  which  rend  your  heart. 

A  peaceful  expression  rested  upon  the  sleeper's  face,  but 
his  breathing  was  deep  and  labored  as  if  some  powerful  feel- 
ing was  stirring  his  soul  under  the  quiet  repose  of  slumber  and 
from  beneath  his  closed  lids  stole  a  tear. 

During  several  hours  the  exhausted  body  lay  between 
sleeping  and  waking,  unconscious  grief  and  comfort. 

Opposite,  "  on  the  Wies  "  fifteen  minutes  walk  from  the 
"Shield,"  a  bell  rang  in  the  church  where  the  pilgrims  went. 
There  an  ancient  Christ  "  our  Lord  of  the  Wies,"  called  sim- 
ply "  the  Wiesherrle,"  carved  from  mouldering,  painted  wood, 
was  hung  from  the  cross  by  chains  which  rattled  when  the 
image  was  laughed  at  incredulously,  and  with  real  hair,  which 
constantly  grew  again  when  an  impious  hand  cut  it.  At  times 
of  special  visitation  it  could  sweat  blood,  and  hundreds  jour- 
neyed to  the  "  Wies,"  trustfully  seeking  the  wonder-working 
"  Wiesherrle."  It  was  a  terrible  image  of  suffering,  and  the 
first  sight  of  the  scourged  body  and  visage  contorted  by  pain 
caused  an  involuntary  thrill  of  horror — increased  by  the  black 
beard  and  long  hair,  such  as  often  grows  in  the  graves  of  the 
dead.  The  face  stared  fixedly  at  the  beholder  with  its  glassy 
eyes,  as  if  to  say :  "  Do  you  believe  in  me  ?"  The  emaciated 
body  was  so  lifelike,  that  it  might  have  been  an  embalmed 
corpse  placed  erect.  But  the  horror  vanished  when  one 
gazed  for  a  while,  for  an  expression  of  patience  rested  on  the 
uncanny  face,  the  lashes  of  the  fixed  eyes  began  to  quiver,  the 
image  became  instinct  with  life,  the  chains  swayed  slightly, 
and  the  drops  of  blood  again  grew  liquid.  Why  should  they 
not  ?  The  heart,  which  loves  forever  can  also,  to  the  eye  of 

23 


354  ON  THE  CROSS. 

faith,  bleed  forever.  Hundreds  of  wax  limbs  and  silver  hearts, 
consecrated  bones  and  other  anomalies  bore  witness  to  past 
calamities  where  the  Wiesherrle  had  lent  its  aid.  But  he 
could  also  be  angry,  as  the  rattling  of  his  chains  showed,  and 
this  gave  him  a  somewhat  spectral,  demoniac  aspect. 

Under  the  protection  of  this  strange  image  of  Christ, 
whose  power  extended  over  the  whole  mountain  plateau,  the 
living  image  of  Christ  lay  unconscious.  Then  the  vesper-bells, 
ringing  from  the  church,  roused  him.  He  hastily  started  up 
and,  in  doing  so,  struck  against  the  block  where  the  wood  was 
split.  A  chain  flung  upon  it  fell.  Freyer  raised  and  held  it 
a  moment  before  replacing  it  on  the  block,  thinking  of  the 
scourging  in  the  Passion  Play. 

"  Heavens,  the  Wiesherrle !"  shrieked  a  terrified  voice,  and 
the  door  leading  into  the  barn,  which  had  been  softly  opened, 
was  hurriedly  shut. 

"  Father,  father,  come  quick — the  Wiesherrle  is  in  the 
barn !" — screamed  some  one  in  deadly  fright. 

"  Silly  girl,"  Freyer  heard  a  man  say.  "  Are  you  crazy  ? 
What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"Really,  Father,  on  my  soul;  just  go  there.  The  Wies- 
herrle is  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  hay.  I  saw  him.  By 
our  Lord  and  the  Holy  Cross.  Amen !" 

Freyer  heard  the  girl  sink  heavily  on  the  bench  by  the 
stove.  The  father  answered  angrily :  "  Silly  thing,  silly  thing !" 
and  went  to  the  door  in  his  hob-nailed  shoes.  "  Is  any  one 
in  here  ?"  he  asked.  But  as  Freyer  approached,  the  peasant 
himself  almost  started  back  in  terror  :  '•  Good  Lord,  who  are 
you  ?  Why  do  you  startle  folks  so  ?  Can't  you  speak  ?" 

"  I  asked  the  man  if  I  might  rest  there,  and  then  I  fell 
asleep." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  so  lazy,  turning  night 
into  day.  Tramp  on,  and  sleep  off  your  drunkenness  some- 
where else!  I  want  no  miracles — and  no  Wiesherrle  in  my 
house." 

"  I'll  pay  for  everything,"  said  Freyer  humbly,  almost  be- 
seechingly, holding  out  his  little  stock  of  ready  money,  for  he 
was  overpowered  with  hunger  and  thirst. 

"  What  do  1  care  for  your  pennies  !"  growled  the  tavern 
keeper  angrily,  closing  the  door. 


THE    "  WIESHERRLE."  3SS 

There  stood  the  hapless  man,  in  whom  the  girl's  soul  had 
recognized  with  awe  the  martyred  Christ,  but  whom  the  rude 
peasant  turned  from  his  door  as  a  vagrant — hufigry  and 
thirsty,  worn  almost  unto  death,  and  with  a  walk  of  five  hours 
before  him.  He  took  his  hat  and  his  staff,  hung  his  dry 
coat  over  his  shoulder,  and  left  the  barn. 

As  he  went  out  he  heard  the  last  notes  of  the  vesper-bell, 
and  felt  a  yearning  to  go  to  Him  for  whom  he  had  been  mis- 
taken, it  seemed  as  if  He  were  calling  in  the  echoing  bells : 
"  Come  to  me,  I  have  comfort  for  you."  He  struck  into  the 
forest  path  that  led  to  the  Wiesherrle.  The  white  walls  of 
the  church  soon  appeared  and  he  stepped  within,  where  the 
showy,  antiquated  style  of  the  last  century  mingled  with  the 
crude  notions  of  the  mountaineers  for  and  by  whom  it  was 
built. 

Skulls,  skeletons  of  saints,  chubby-cheeked  cupids,  cruel 
martyrdoms,  and  Arcadian  shepherdesses,  nude  penitents  and 
fiends  dragging  them  down  into  the  depths,  lambs  of  heaven 
and  dogs  of  hell  were  all  in  motley  confusion !  Above  the 
chaotic  medley  arched  on  fantastic  columns  the  huge  dome 
with  a  gate  of  heaven  painted  in  perspective,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  beholder's  standpoint  rose  or  sank,  was  foreshort- 
ened or  the  opposite. 

A  wreath  of  lucernes  beautifully  ornamented,  through 
which  the  blue  sky  peeped  and  swallows  building  their  nests 
flew  in  and  out,  formed  as  it  were  the  jewel  in  the  architecture 
of  the  cornice.  Even  the  eye  of  God  was  not  lacking,  a  tarn- 
ished bit  of  mirror  inserted  above  the  pulpit  in  the  centre  of 
golden  rays,  and  intended  to  flash  when  the  sun  shone  on  it. 

And  there  in  a  glass  shrine  directly  beneath  all  the  tinsel 
rubbish,  on  the  gilded  carving  of  the  high  altar,  the  poor, 
plain  little  Wiesherrle  hung  in  chains.  The  two,  the  wooden 
image  of  God,  and  the  one  of  flesh  and  blood,  confronted 
each  other — the  Christ  of  the  Ammergau  Play  greeted  the 
Christ  of  the  Wies.  It  is  true,  they  did  resemble  each  other, 
like  suffering  and  pain.  Freyer  knelt  long  before  the  Wies- 
herrle and  what  they  confided  to  each  other  was  heard  only 
by  the  God  in  whose  service  and  by  whose  power  they 
wrought  miracles — each  in  his  own  way. 

"  You  are  happy,"  said  the  Wiesherrle.     "  Happier  than 


356  ON   THE   CROSS. 

I !  Human  hands  created  and  faith  animated  me  ;  where  that 
is  lacking,  I  am  a  mere  dead  wooden  puppet,  only  fit  to  be 
flung  into  the  fire.  But  you  were  created  by  God,  you  live 
and  breathe,  can  move  and  act — and  highest  of  all — suffer 
like  Him  whom  we  represent.  I  envy  you !" 

"Yes!"  cried  Freyer;  "You  are  right;  to  suffer  like 
Christ  is  highest  of  all !  My  God,  I  thank  Thee  that  I  suffer. " 

This  was  the  comfort  the  Wiesherrle  had  for  his  sorely 
tried  brother.  It  was  a  simple  thought,  but  it  gave  him 
strength  to  bear  everything.  It  is  always  believed  that  a 
great  grief  requires  a  great  consolation.  This  is  not  true,  the 
poorer  the  man  is,  the  more  value  the  smallest  gift  has  for 
him,  and  the  more  wretched  he  is — the  smallest  comfort !  To 
the  husbandman  whose  crops  have  been  destroyed  by  hail,  it 
would  be  no  comfort  to  receive  the  gift  of  a  blossom,  which 
would  bring  rapture  to  the  sultry  attic  chamber  of  a  sick  man. 

In  a  great  misfortune  we  often  ask :  "  What  gave  the  per- 
son strength  to  endure  it  ?"  It  was  nothing  save  these  trivial 
comforts  which  only  the  unhappy  know.  The  soul  lamenting 
the  loss  of  a  loved  one  while  many  others  are  left  is  not  com- 
forted when  the  lifeless  figure  of  a  martyr  preaches  patience — 
but  to  the  desolate  one,  who  no  longer  has  aught  which  speaks 
to  him,  the  lifeless  wooden  image  becomes  a  friend  and  its 
mute  language  a  consolation. 

Beside  the  altar  stood  an  alms-box.  The  gifts  for  which  it 
was  intended  were  meant  for  repairs  on  the  church  and  the 
preservation  of  the  Wiesherrle,  who  sometimes  needed  a  new 
cloth  about  his  loins.  Freyer  flung  into  it  the  few  coins 
which  the  innkeeper  had  disdained,  because  he  looked  like 
the  Wiesherrle,  now  they  should  go  to  him.  He  felt  as  if  he 
should  need  no  more  money  all  his  life,  as  if  the  comfort  he 
had  here  received  raised  him  far  above  earthly  need  and  care. 

Twilight  was  gathering,  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  blue 
peaks  of  the  Pfrontner  mountains,  and  now  the  hour  struck — 
the  sacred  hour  of  the  return  home. 

Already  he  felt  with  joy  the  throbbing  of  the  pulses  of  his 
home,  a  mysterious  connection  between  this  place  and  dis- 
tant Ammergau.  And  he  was  right :  Childish  as  was  the  re- 
presentation of  the  divine  ideal,  it  was,  nevertheless,  the  rip- 
pling of  one  of  those  hidden  springs  of  faith  which  blend  in  the 


THE    "WIESHERRLE."  357 

Passion  Play,  forming  the  great  stream  of  belief  which  is  to 
supply  a  thirsting  world.  As  on  a  barren  height,  amid  tan- 
gled thickets,  we  often  greet  with  delight  the  low  murmur  of 
a  hidden  brook  which  in  the  valley  below  becomes  the  mighty 
artery  of  our  native  soil,  so  the  returning  wanderer  hurried  on 
longingly  toward  the  mysterious  spring  which  led  him  to  the 
mother's  heart.  But  his  knees  trembled,  human  nature  as- 
serted its  rights.  He  must  eat  or  he  would  fall  fainting.  But 
where  could  food  be  had  ?  The  last  pennies  were  in  the  alms- 
box — he  could  not  have  taken  them  out  again,  even  had  he 
wished  it.  There  was  no  way  save  to  ask  some  one — for 
bread.  He  dragged  himself  wearily  to  the  parsonage — he 
would  try  there,  the  priest  would  be  less  startled  by  the 
"  Wiesherrle  "  than  the  peasant.  Thrice  he  attempted  to  pull 
the  bell,  but  very  gently.  He  fancied  the  whole  world  could 
hear  that  he  was  ringing — to  beg.  Yet,  if  it  did  not  sound, 
no  one  would  open  the  door.  At  last,  with  as  much  effort  as 
though  he  was  pulling  the  bell-rope  in  the  church  steeple,  he 
rang.  The  bell  echoed  shrilly.  The  pastor's  old  cook  ap- 
peared. 

Freyer  raised  his  hat.  "  Might  I  ask  you  for  a  piece  of 
bread  ? "  he  murmured  softly,  and  the  tall  figure  seemed  to 
droop  lower  with  every  word. 

The  cook,  who  was  never  allowed  to  turn  a  beggar  from 
the  door,  eyed  him  a  moment  with  mingled  pity  and  anxiety. 
"  Directly,"  she  answered,  and  went  in  search  of  something, 
but  prudently  closed  the  door,  leaving  him  outside  as  we  do 
with  suspicious  individuals.  Freyer  waited,  hat  in  hand. 
The  evening  breeze  swept  chill  across  the  lofty  mountain 
plateau  and  blew  his  hair  around  his  uncovered  head.  At  last 
the  cook  came,  bringing  him  some  soup  and  a  bit  of  bread. 
Freyer  thanked  her,  and  ate  it !  When  he  had  finished  he 
gave  the  little  dish  back  to  the  woman — but  his  hand 
trembled  so  that  he  almost  let  it  fall  and  his  brow  was  damp. 
Then  he  thanked  her  again,  but  without  raising  his  eyes,  and 
quietly  pursued  his  way. 


358  ON   THE   CROSS. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE    RETURN    HOME. 

THE  "  Wies  "  towered  like  an  island  from  amid  a  grey 
sea  of  clouds.  All  the  mountains  of  Trauchgau  and  Pfront, 
Allgau  and  Tyrol,  which  surround  it  like  distant  shores  and 
cliffs,  had  vanished  in  the  mist.  The  windows  in  the  com- 
fortable tavern  were  lighted  and  a  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth.  One  little  lamp  after  another  shone  from  the  quiet 
farm-houses. 

The  lonely  church  now  lay  silent!  Silent,  too,  was  the 
Wiesherrle  in  his  glass  shrine,  while  the  wayfarer  pressed 
steadily  down  through  the  mist  toward  home  and  the  cross  ! 
Freyer  moved  on  more  and  more  swiftly  across  the  hill-sides 
and  through  the  woods  till  he  reached  the  path  leading  down 
the  mountain  to  the  "  Halb-Ammer,"  which  flowed  at  its 
base.  Gradually  he  emerged  from  the  strata  of  mist,  and  now 
a  faint  ray  of  moonlight  fell  upon  his  path. 

Hour  after  hour  he  pursued  his  way.  One  after  another 
the  lights  in  the  houses  were  extinguished.  The  world  sank 
into  slumber,  and  the  villages  were  wrapped  in  silence. 

In  the  churches  only  the  ever-burning  lamps  still  blazed, 
and  he  made  them  his  resting-places. 

The  clock  in  the  church  steeple  of  Altenau  struck  twelve 
as  he  passed  through.  A  belated  tippler  approached  him 
with  the  reeling  step  of  a  drunkard,  but  started  back  when  he 
saw  his  face,  staring  after  him  with  dull  bewildered  eyes  as  if 
he  beheld  some  spectre  of  the  night. 

"  An  image  of  horror  I  glide  through  the  land  !"  Freyer 
murmured  softly.  To-night  he  did  not  sing  his  song.  This 
evening  his  pain  was  soothed,  his  soul  was  preparing  for  an- 
other paean — on  the  cross ! 

Now  the  little  church  of  Kappel  appeared  before  him  on 
its  green  hill,  like  a  pious  sign-post  pointing  the  way  to  Am- 
mergau.  But  patches  of  snow  still  lingered  amid  the  pale 
green  of  the  Spring  foliage,  for  it  is  late  ere  the  Winter  is 
conquered  by  the  milder  season  and  the  keen  wind  swept 
down  the  broad  highway,  making  the  wayfarer's  teeth  chatter 


THE    RETURN    HOME.  359 

with  cold.  He  felt  that  his  vital  warmth  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted, he  had  walked  two  days  with  no  hot  food.  For  the 
soup  at  the  parsonage  that  day  was  merely  lukewarm — he 
stood  still  a  moment,  surely  he  had  dreamed  that!  He 
could  not  have  begged  for  bread  ?  Yes,  it  was  even  so.  A 
tremor  shook  his  limbs  :  Have  you  fallen  so  low  ?  He  tried 
to  button  his  thin  coat — his  fingers  were  stiff  with  cold.  Ten 
years  ago  whem  he  left  Ammergau,  it  was  midsummer — now 
winter  still  reigned  on  the  heights.  "  Only  let  me  not  perish 
on  the  highway,"  he  prayed,  "  only  let  me  reach  home." 

It  was  now  bright  cold  moonlight,  all  the  outlines  of  the 
mountains  stood  forth  distinctly,  the  familiar  contours  of  the 
Ammergau  peaks  became  more  and  more  visible. 

Now  he  stood  on  the  Ammer  bridge  where  what  might  be 
termed  the  suburb  of  Ammergau,  the  hamlet  of  Lower  Am- 
mergau, begins.  The  moon-lit  river  led  the  eye  in  a  straight 
line  to  the  centre  of  the  Ammer  valley — there  lay  the  sacred 
mountains  of  his  home — the  vast  side  scenes  of  the  most 
gigantic  stage  in  the  world,  the  Kofel  with  its  cross,  and  the 
other  peaks.  Opposite  on  the  left  the  quiet  chapel  of  St. 
Gregory  amid  boundless  meadows,  beside  the  fall  of  the 
Leine,  the  Ammer's  wilder  sister.  There  he  had  watched  his 
horses  when  a  boy,  down  near  the  chapel  where  the  blue 
gentians  had  garlanded  his  head  when  he  flung  himself  on  the 
grass,  intoxicated  by  his  own  exuberant  youth  and  abundance 
of  life. 

He  extended  his  arms  as  if  he  would  fain  embrace  the 
whole  infinite  scene  :  "  Home,  home,  your  lost  sen  is  return- 
ing— receive  him.  Do  not  fall,  ye  mountains,  and  bury  the 
beloved  valley  ere  I  reach  it ! " 

One  last  effort,  one  short  hour's  walk.  Hold  out,  wearied 
one,  this  one  hour  more  ! 

The  highway  from  Lower  Ammergau  stretched  endlessly 
toward  the  goal.  On  the  right  was  the  forest,  on  the  left  the 
fields  where  grew  thousands  of  meadow  blossoms,  the  Eden 
of  his  childhood  where  a  blue  lake  once  lured  him,  so  blue 
that  he  imagined  it  was  reflecting  a  patch  of  the  sky,  but 
when  he  reached  it,  instead  of  water,  he  beheld  a  field  of 
forget-me-nots ! 

Oh,  memories  of  childhood — reconciling  angel  of  'he  tor- 


360  -  ON   THE   CROSS. 

'tured  soul !  'There  stands  the  cross  on  the  boundary  with 
'the  thorny  bush  whence  Christ's  crown  was  cut. 

"  How  will  you  fare,  will  the  community  receive  you,  ad- 
mit you  to  the  blissful  union  of  home  powers,  if  you  sacrifice 
your  heart's  blood  for  it?"  Freyer  asked  himself,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  some  cloud,  some  dark  foreboding  came  be- 
tween him  and  his  home.  "  Welt  for  him  who  no  longer  ex- 
pects his  reward  from  this  world.  What  are  men  ?  They 
are  all  variable,  variable  and  weak !  Thou  alone  art  the 
same.  Thou  who  dost  create  the  miracle  from  our  midst — 
and  thou,  sacred  soil  of  our  ancestors,  ye  mountains  from 
whose  peaks  blows  the  strengthening  breath  which  animates 
our  sublime  work — it  is  not  human  beings,  but  ye  who  are 
home! 

Now  the  goal  was  gained — he  was  there  !  Before  him  in 
the  moonlight  lay  the  Passion  Theatre — the  consecrated 
space  where  once  for  hours  he  was  permitted  to  feel  himself  a 
God. 

The  poor,  cast  off  man,  deceived  in  all  things,  flung  him- 
self down,  kissed  the  earth,  and  laid  a  handful  of  it  on  his 
head,  as  though  it  were  the  hand  of  a  mother — while  from 
his  soul  gushed  like  a  song  sung  by  his  own  weeping  guar- 
dian angel, 

"  Thy  soil  I  kiss,  beloved  home, 

Which  erst  my  fathers'  feet  have  trod, 
Where  the  good  seed  devoutly  sown 

Sprang  forth  at  the  command  of  God  ! 
Thy  lap  fain  would  I  rest  upon, 

Though  faithlessly  from  thee  I  fled 
Still  thy  chains  draw  thy  wand'ring  son 

Oh  !  mother,  back  where'er  his  feet  may  tread. 
And  though  no  ray  of  light,  no  star, 

Illumes  the  future — and  its  gloom, 
Thou  wilt  not  grudge,  after  life's  war, 

A  clod  of  earth  upon  my  tomb." 

He  rested  his  head  thus  a  long  time  on  the  cold  earth, 
but  he  no  longer  felt  it.  It  seemed  as  though  the  soul  had 
consumed  the  last  power  of  the  exhausted  body — and  burst- 
ing its  fetters  blazed  forth  like  an  aureole.  "  Hosanna,  ho- 
sanna !  "  rang  through  the  air,  and  the  earth  trembled  under 
the  tramp  of  thousands.  On  they  came  in  a  long  procession 


THE   RETURN   HOME.  36  * 

bearing  palm-branches,  the  shades  of  the  fathers — the  old 
actors  in  the  Passion  Play  from  its  commencement,  and  all 
who  had  lived  and  died  for  the  cross  since  the  time  of 
Christ ! 

"  Hosanna,  hosanna  to  him  who  died  on  the  cross. 
Many  are  called,  but  few  chosen.  But  you  belong  to  us!" 
sang  the  chorus  of  martyrs  till  the  notes  rang  through  earth 
and  Heaven.  "  Hosanna,  hosanna  to  him  who  suffers  and 
bleeds  for  the  sins  of  the  world." 

Freyer  raised  his  head.  The  moon  had  gone  behind  a 
cloud,  and  white  mists  were  gathering  over  the  fields. 

He  rose,  shivering  with  cold.  His  thin  coat  was  damp 
with  the  night  frost  which  had  melted  on  his  uncovered 
breast,  and  his  feet  were  sore,  for  his  shoes  were  worn  out  by 
the  long  walk. 

He  still  fancied  he  could  hear,  far  away  in  the  infinite 
distance,  the  chorus  of  the  Hosanna  to  the  Crucified  !  And 
raising  his  arms  to  heaven,  he  cried :  "  Oh,  my  Redeemer 
and  Master,  so  long  as  Thou  dost  need  me  to  show  the 
world  Thy  face — let  me  live — then  take  pity  on  me  and  let 
me  die  on  the  cross !  Die  for  the  sins  of  one,  as  Thou  didst 
die  for  the  sins  of  the  world."  He  opened  the  door  leading 
to  the  stage.  There  in  the  dim  moonlight  lay  the  old  cross. 
Sobbing  aloud,  he  embraced  it,  pressing  to  his  breast  the 
hard  wood  which  had  supported  him  and  now,  as  of  yore, 
was  surrounded  by  the  mysterious  powers,  which  so  strongly 
attracted  him. 

"  Oh,  had  I  been  but  faithful  to  thee,"  he  lamented,  "all 
the  blessings  of  this  world — even  were  it  the  greatest  happi- 
ness, would  not  outweigh  thee.  Now  I  am  thine — raise  thy- 
self with  me  and  bear  me  upward,  high  above  all  earthly 
woe." 

The  clock  in  the  church  steeple  struck  three.  He  must 
still  live  and  suffer,  for  he  knew  that  no  one  could  play  the 
Christus  as  he  did,  because  no  one  bore  the  Redeemer's  im- 
age in  his  heart  like  him.  But — could  he  go  farther  ?  His 
strength  had  failed,  he  felt  it  with  burdened  breast.  He  took 
up  his  hat  and  staff,  and  tottered  out.  Where  should  he  go  ? 
To  Ludwig  Gross,  the  only  person  to  whom  he  was  not 
ashamed  to  show  himself  in  his  wretchedness. 


362  ON   THE    CROSS. 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  realized  that  he  could  scarcely 
move  farther.  Yet  it  must  be  done,  he  could  not  lie  there. 

Step  by  step  he  dragged  himself  in  his  torn  shoes  along 
the  rough  village  street.  When  half  way  down  he  heard 
music  and  singing  alternating  with  cries  and  laughter,  echoing 
from  the  tavern.  It  was  a  wedding,  and  they  were  preparing 
to  escort  the  bride  and  groom  home — he  learned  this  from 
the  talk  of  some  of  the  lads  who  came  out.  Was  he  really  in 
Ammergau  ?  His  soul  was  yet  thrilling  with  emotion  at  the 
sight  of  the  home  for  which  he  had  so  long  yearned  and  now 
— this  contrast !  Yet  it  was  natural,  they  could  not  all  de- 
vote themselves  to  their  task  with  the  same  fervor.  Yet  it 
doubly  wounded  the  man  who  bore  in  his  heart  such  a 
solemn  earnestness  of  conviction.  He  glided  noiselessly 
along  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  that  no  one  should  see 
him. 

Did  not  the  carousers  notice  that  their  Christ  was  passing 
in  beggar's  garb  ?  Did  they  not  feel  the  gaze  bent  on  them 
from  the  shadow  through  the  lighted  window,  silently  asking : 
"  Are  these  the  descendants  of  those  ancestors  whose  glori- 
fied spirits  had  just  greeted  the  returning  son  of  Ammer- 
gau ?  " 

The  unhappy  wanderer's  step  passed  by  unheard,  and 
now  Freyer  turned  into  the  side  street,  where  his  friend's 
house  stood — the  luckless  house  where  his  doom  began. 

It  was  not  quite  half-past  three.  The  confused  noise  did 
not  reach  the  quiet  street.  The  house,  shaded  by  its  broad, 
projecting  roof,  lay  as  if  wrapped  in  slumber.  Except  during 
the  passion  Ludwig  alwaps  slept  in  the  room  on  the  ground 
floor,  formerly  occupied  by  the  countess.  Freyer  tapped 
lightly  on  the  shutter,  but  his  heart  was  beating  so  violently 
that  he  could  scarcely  hear  whether  any  one  was  moving 
within. 

If  his  friend  should  not  be  there,  had  gone  away  on  a 
journey,  or  moved — what  should  he  do  then  ?  He  had  had 
no  communication  with  him,  and  only  heard  once  through 
Josepha  that  old  Andreas  Gross  was  dead.  He  knocked 
again.  Ludwig  was  the  only  person  whom  he  could  trust — 
if  he  had  lost  him,  all  would  be  over. 


THE    RETURN    HOME.  363 

But  no — there  was  a  movement  within — the  well-known 
voice  asked  sleepily :  "  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  Ludwig,  open  the  window — it  is  I — Freyer  1  "  he  called 
under  his  breath. 

The  shutters  were  flung  back.  "  Freyer — is  it  possible  ? 
Wait,  Joseph,  wait,  I'll  admit  you."  He  heard  his  friend 
hurriedly  dressing — two  minutes  after  the  door  opened.  Not 
a  word  was  exchanged  between  the  two  men.  Ludwig 
grasped  Freyer's  hand  and  drew  him  into  the  house. 
"  Freyer — you — am  I  dreaming  ?  You  here — what  brings 
you  ?  I'll  have  a  light  directly."  His  hand  trembled  with 
excitement  as  he  lighted  a  candle.  Freyer  stood  timidly  at 
the  door.  The  room  grew  bright,  the  rays  streamed  full  on 
Freyer.  Ludwig  started  back  in  horror.  "  Merciful  Heaven, 
how  you  look  ! " 

The  friends  long  stood  face  to  face,  unable  to  utter  a 
word,  Freyer  still  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Ludwig's 
keen  eye  glided  over  the  emaciated  form,  the  shabby  coat, 
the  torn  shoes.  "  Freyer,  Freyer,  what  has  befallen  you  ? 
My  poor  friend,  do  you  return  to  me  thus  ?  "  With  unutter- 
able grief  he  clasped  the  unfortunate  man  in  his  arms. 

Freyer  could  scarcely  speak,  his  tongue  refused  to  obey 
his  will.  "  If  I  could  rest  a  little  while,"  he  faltered. 

"  Yes,  come,  come  and  lie  down  on  my  bed — I  have  slept 
as  much  as  I  wish.  I  shall  not  lie  down  again,"  replied  Lud- 
wig, trembling  with  mingled  pity  and  alarm,  as  he  drew  off 
his  friend's  miserable  rags  as  quickly  as  possible.  Then  lead- 
ing him  to  his  own  bed,  he  gently  pressed  him  down  upon  it. 
He  would  not  weary  the  exhausted  man  with  questions,  he 
saw  that  Freyer  was  no  longer  master  of  himself.  His  con- 
dition told  his  friend  enough. 

"  You — are — kind ! "  stammered  Freyer.  "  Oh,  I  have 
learned  something  in  the  outside  world." 

"  What — what  have  you  learned  ?  *'  asked  Ludwig. 

A  strange  smile  flitted  over  Freyer's  face :  "  To  leg" 

His  friend  shuddered.  "  Don't  talk  any  more  now — you 
need  rest !  "  he  said  in  a  low,  soothing  tone,  wrapping  the 
chilled  body  in  warm  coverlets.  But  a  flash  of  noble  indigna- 
tion sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  his  pale  lips  could  not  restrain 


364  ON   THE   CROSS. 

the  words :  "  I  will  ask  no  questions — but  whoever  sent  you 
home  to  us  must  answer  for  it  to  God." 

The  other  did  not  hear,  or  if  he  did  his  thoughts  were  too 
confused  to  understand. 

"  Freyer  !  Only  tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  strengthen  you. 
I'll  make  a  fire,  and  give  you  anything  to  eat  that  you  would 
like." 

"  Whatever — you — have !  "  Freyer  gasped  with  much  diffi- 
culty. 

"  May  God  help  us — he  is  starving."  Ludwig  could 
scarcely  control  his  tears.  "  Keep  quiet — I'll  come  presently 
and  bring  you  something ! "  he  said,  hurrying  out  to  get  all 
the  modest  larder  contained.  He  would  not  wake  his  sisters 
— this  was  no  theme  for  feminine  gossip.  He  soon  prepared 
with  his  own  hands  a  simple  bread  porridge  into  which  he 
broke  a  couple  of  eggs,  he  had  nothing  else — but  at  least  it 
was  warm  food.  When  he  took  it  to  his  friend  Freyer  had 
grown  so  weak  that  he  could  scarcely  hold  the  spoon,  but  the 
nourishment  evidently  did  him  good. 

"  Now  sleep !  "  said  Ludwig.  "  Day  is  dawning.  I'll  go 
down  to  the  village  and  see  if  I  can  get  you  some  boots  and 
another  coat." 

A  mute  look  of  gratitude  from  Freyer  rewarded  the  faith- 
ful care,  then  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  friend  gazed  at  him 
with  deep  melancholy. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


TO   THE   VILLAGE. 

THE  burgomaster's  house,  with  its  elaborate  fresco, 
"  Christ  before  Pilate,"  still  stood  without  any  signs  of  life  in 
the  grey  dawn.  The  burgomaster  was  asleep.  He  had  been 
ill  very  frequently.  It  seemed  as  if  the  attack  brought  on  by 
Freyer 's  flight  had  given  him  his  death-blow,  he  had  never 
rallied  from  it.  And  as  his  body  could  not  recuperate,  his 
mind  could  never  regain  its  tone. 

When  Ludwig  Gross'  violent  ring  disturbed  the  morning 
silence  of  the  house  the  burgomaster's  wife  opened  the  door 


TO   THE   VILLAGE.  365 

with  a  face  by  no  means  expressive  of  pleasure.  "  My  hus- 
band is  still  asleep  !  "  she  said  to  the  drawing-master. 

"Yes,  I  cannot  help  it,  you  must  wake  him.  I've  im- 
portant business!" 

The  anxious  wife  still  demurred,  but  the  burgomaster  ap- 
peared at  the  top  of  the  staircase.  "  What  is  it  ?  I  am  al- 
ways to  be  seen  if  there  is  anything  urgent.  Good  morning; 
go  into  the  sitting-room.  I'll  come  directly." 

Ludwig  Gross  entered  the  low-ceiled  but  cheerful  apart- 
ment, where  flowers  bloomed  in  every  window.  Against  the 
wall  was  the  ancient  glass  cupboard,  the  show  piece  of  furni- 
ture in  every  well-to-do  Ammergau  household,  where  were 
treasured  the  wife's  bridal  wreath  and  the  husband's  goblet, 
the  wedding  gifts — cups  with  gilt  inscriptions:  "In  perpetual 
remembrance,"  which  belonged  to  the  wife  and  prizes  won 
in  shooting  matches,  or  gifts  from  visitors  to  the  Passion  Play, 
the  property  of  the  husband.  In  the  ivy-grown  niche  in 
the  corner  of  the  room  was  an  ancient  crucifix — below  it  a 
wooden  bench  with  a  table,  on  which  lay  writing  materials. 
On  the  pier-table  between  the  windows  were  a  couple  of  im- 
ages of  saints,  and  a  pile  of  play-bills  of  the  rehearsals  which 
the  burgomaster  was  arranging.  Against  the  opposite  wall 
stood  a  four-legged  piece  of  furniture  covered  with  black 
leather,  called  "  the  sofa,"  and  close  by  the  huge  tiled  stove, 
behind  which  the  burgomaster's  wife  had  set  the  milk  "to 
thicken."  Near  by  was  a  wall-cupboard  with  a  small  writing- 
desk,  and  lastly  a  beautifully  polished  winding  staircase  which 
led  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  directly  into  the  sleeping- 
room,  and  was  the  seat  of  the  family  cat.  This  was  the  home 
of  a  great  intellect,  which  reached  far  beyond  these  narrow 
bounds  and  to  which  the  great  epochs  of  the  Passion  Play 
were  the  only  sphere  in  which  it  could  really  live,  where  it  had 
a  wide  field  for  its  talents  and  ambition — where  it  could  find 
compensation  for  the  ten  years  prose  of  petty,  narrow  circum- 
stances. But  the  intervals  of  ten  years  were  too  long,  and  the 
elderly  man  was  gradually  losing  the  elasticity  and  enthusiasm 
which  could  bear  him  beyond  the  deprivations  of  a  decade. 
He  tried  all  sorts  of  ventures  in  order  at  least  to  escape  the 
petty  troubles  of  poverty,  but  they  were  unsuccessful  and 
thereby  he  only  became  burdened  the  more.  Thus  in  the  strife 


366  ON    THE    CROSS. 

with  realism,  constantly  holding  aloft  the  standard  of  the  ideal, 
involved  in  inward  and  outward  contradictions,  the  hapless 
man  was  wearing  himself  out — like  most  of  the  natives  of 
Ammergau. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  now  asked,  entering  the  room. 
"Sit  down." 

"  Don't  be  vexed,  but  you  know  my  husband  must  have 
his  coffee,  or  he  will  be  ill."  The  burgomaster's  wife  brought 
in  the  breakfast  and  set  it  on  the  table  before  him.  "  Don't 
let  it  get  cold,"  she  said  warningly,  then  prudently  retreated, 
even  taking  the  cat  with  her,  that  the  gentlemen  might  be  en- 
tirely alone  and  undisturbed. 

"  Drink  it,  pray  drink  it,"  urged  Ludwig,  and  waited  until 
the  burgomaster  had  finished  his  scanty  breakfast;  which  was 
quickly  done.  "  Well?  What  is  it!"  asked  the  latter,  pushing 
his  cup  aside. 

"  I  have  news  for  you :  Freyer  is  here ! " 

"Ah!"  The  burgomaster  started,  and  an  ominous  flush 
crimsoned  his  face.  His  hand  trembled  nervously  as  he 
smoothed  his  hair,  once  so  beautiful,  now  grey.  "Freyer — ! 
How  did  he  get  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — the  question  died  on  my  lips  when  I  saw 
him."  y 

"Why?"  ? 

"  Oh,  he  is  such  a  spectacle,  ill,  half  starved — in  rags,  an 
Ecce  homo!  I  thought  my  heart  would  break  when  I  saw 
him." 

"Aha — so  Nemesis  is  here  already." 

"Oh!  do  not  speak  so.  Such  a  Nemesis  is  too  cruel!  I 
do  not  know  what  has  befallen  him — I  could  ask  no  questions, 
but  I  do  know  that  Kreyer  has  done  nothing  which  deserves 
such  a  punishment.  You  can  have  no  idea  of  the  man's  con- 
dition. He  is  lying  at  home — unable  to  move  a  limb." 

The  burgomaster  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What  have  I 
to  do  with  it?  You  know  that  I  never  sympathize  with  self- 
created  sorrows." 

"  You  need  not,  only  you  must  help  me  obtain  some  means 
of  livelihood  for  the  unfortunate  man.  He  still  has  his  share 
of  the  receipts  of  the  last  Passion  Play.  He  was  not  present 
at  the  distribution,  but  he  played  the  Christus  from  May  until 


TO  THE  VILLAGE.  367 

August — to  the  best  of  my  recollection  his  portion  was  be- 
tween seven  and  eight  hundred  marks." 

"Quite  right.  But  as  he  had  run  away  and  moreover  very 
generously  bequeathed  all  his  property  to  the  poor — I  could 
not  suppose  that  I  must  save  the  sum  for  a  rainy  day,  and 
that  he  would  so  soon  be  in  the  position  of  becoming  a  burden 
upon  the  community!" 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  money?" 

"Don't  you  know?  I  divided  it  with  the  rest." 

Ludwig  stamped  his  foot.  "  Oh,  Heaven  i  that  was  my 
only  hope!  But  he  must  have  assistance,  he  has  neither 
clothing  nor  shoes!  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the  house  except 
what  we  need  for  food.  He  cannot  be  seen  in  these  garments, 
he  would  rather  die.  We  cannot  expose  him  to  mockery — 
we  must  respect  ourselves  in  him,  he  was  the  best  Christus  we 
ever  had,  and  though  the  play  was  interrupted  by  him,  we 
owe  him  a  greater  success  and  a  larger  revenue  than  we  for- 
merly obtained  during  a  whole  season.  And,  in  return,  should 
we  allow  him  to  go  with  empty  hands — like  the  poet  in  Schil- 
ler's division  of  the  earth,  because  he  came  too  late?  " 

"Yes."  The  burgomaster  twisted  his  moustache  with  his 
thin  fingers :  "  I  am  sorry  for  him — but  the  thing  is  done  and 
cannot  be  changed." 

"It  must  be  changed,  the  people  must  return  the  money!" 
cried  the  drawing-master  vehemently. 

The  burgomaster  looked  at  him  with  his  keen  eyes,  half 
veiled  by  their  drooping  lids.  "  Ask  them,"  he  said  calmly 
and  coldly.  "  Go  and  get  it — if  it  can  be  had." 

Ludwig  bit  his  lips.  "  Then  something  must  be  done  by 
the  parish." 

"That  requires  an  agreement  of  the  whole  parish." 

"Call  a  meeting  then." 

"Hm,  hm!"  The  burgomaster  smiled:  " That  is  no  easy 
matter.  What  do  you  think  the  people  will  answer,  if  I  say : 
'  Herr  Freyer  ran  away  from  us,  interrupted  the  performances, 
made  us  lose  about  100,000  marks,  discredited  the  Passion 
Play  in  our  own  eyes  and  those  of  the  world,  and  asks  in  re- 
turn the  payment  of  800  marks  from  the  parish  treasury?" 

Ludwig  let  his  arms  fall  in  hopeless  despair.  "Then  I 
don't  know  what  to  do — I  must  support  my  helpless  old  sisters. 


368  ON   THE   CROSS. 

I  cannot  maintain  him,  too,  or  I  would  ask  no  one's  aid.  I 
think  it  should  be  a  point  of  honor  with  us  Ammergau  people 
not  to  leave  a  member  of  the  parish  in  the  lurch,  when  he  re- 
turns home  poor  and  needy,  especially  a  man  like  Freyer, 
whom  we  have  more  cause  to  thank  than  to  reproach,  say 
what  you  will.  We  are  not  a  penal  institution." 

"  No,  nor  an  asylum." 

"Well,  we  need  be  neither,  but  merely  a  community  of 
free  men,  who  should  be  solely  ruled  by  the  thought  of  love, 
but  unfortunately  have  long  ceased  to  be  so." 

The  burgomaster  leaned  quietly  back  in  his  chair,  the 
drawing-master  became  more  and  more  heated,  as  the  other 
remained  cold. 

"You  always  take  refuge  behind  the  parish,  when  you 
don't  wish  to  do  anything — but  when  you  desire  it,  the  parish 
never  stands  in  your  way ! " 

The  burgomaster  pressed  his  hand  to  his  brow,  as  if  think- 
ing wearied  him.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  men  whose 
hearts  are  in  their  heads.  If  anything  made  his  heart  ache,  it 
disturbed  his  brain  too.  He  remained  silent  a  long  time  while 
Ludwig  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  trembling  with  excite- 
ment. At  last,  not  without  a  touch  of  bitter  humor,  he  said : 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that,  you  always  say  so  whenever  I 
do  anything  that  does  not  suit  you.  I  should  like  to  see  what 
would  become  of  you,  with  your  contradictory,  impulsive 
artist  nature,  to-day  'Hosanna'  and  to-morrow  '  Crucify  Him,' 
if  I  did  not  maintain  calmness  and  steadiness  for  you.  If  I,  who 
bear  the  responsibility  of  acting,  changed  my  opinions  as  quickly 
as  you  do  and  converted  each  of  your  momentary  impulses  into 
an  act — I  ought  at  least  to  possess  the  power  to  kill  to-day, 
and  to-morrow,  when  you  repented,  restore  the  person  to  life. 
Ten  years  ago,  when  Freyer  left  us  in  the  lurch  for  the  sake  of 
a  love  affair,  and  dealt  a  blow  to  all  we  held  sacred — you 
threw  yourself  into  my  arms  and  wept  on  my  breast  over  the 
enormity  of  his  deed — now — because  I  am  not  instantly 
touched  by  a  few  rags  and  tatters,  and  the  woe-begone  air  of 
a  penitent  recovering  from  a  moral  debauch,  you  will  weep  on 
your  friend's  bosom  over  the  harshness  and  want  of  feeling  of 
the  burgomaster !  I'm  used  to  it.  I  know  you  hotspurs." 

He  drew  a  pair  of  boots  from  under  the  stove.    "  There — 


TO    THE    VILLAGE.  369 

I  am  the  owner  of  just  two  pairs  of  boots.  You  can  take  one 
to  your  protege,  that  he  may  at  least  appear  before  me  in  a 
respectable  fashion  to  discuss  the  matter !  I  don't  do  it  at  the 
cost  of  the  parish,  however.  And  I  can  give  you  an  old  coat 
too — I  was  going  to  send  it  to  my  Anton,  but,  no  matter! 
Only  I  beg  you  not  to  tell  him  from  whom  the  articles  come, 
or  he  will  hate  me  because  I  was  in  a  situation  to  help  him — 
instead  of  he  me" 

"  Oh,  how  little  you  know  him  !"  cried  Ludwig. 

The  burgomaster  smiled.  "  I  know  the  Ammergau 
people — and  he  is  one  of  them  !" 

"  I  thank  you  in  his  name,"  said  Ladwig,  instantly  ap- 
peased. 

"  Yes,  you  see  you  thank  me  for  that,  yet  it  is  the  least  im- 
portant thing.  This  is  merely  a  private  act  of  charity  which 
I  might  show  any  rascal  I  pitied.  But  when  I,  as  burgo- 
master, rigidly  guard  the  honor  of  Ammergau  and  consider 
whom  I  recommend  to  public  sympathy,  you  reproach  me  for 
it !  Before  I  call  a  parish  meeting  and  answer  for  him  offici- 
ally, I  must  know  whether  he  is  worthy  of  it,  and  what  his 
condition  is."  He  again  pressed  his  hand  to  his  head. 
•'*  Send  him  to  me  at  the  office — then  we  will  see." 

Ludwig  held  out  his  hand.  "  No  offence,  surely  we  know 
how  we  feel  toward  each  other." 

When  the  drawing-master  had  gone,  the  burgomaster  drew 
a  long  breath  and  remained  for  some  time  absorbed  in 
thought.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  clock,  not  to  learn  the  hour 
but  to  ascertain  whether  the  conversation  had  lasted  long 
enough  to  account  for  his  headache  and  exhaustion.  The 
result  did  not  seem  to  soothe  him.  "  Where  will  this  end  ?" 

His  wife  looked  in    "  Well,  Father,  what  is  it  ?" 

The  burgomaster  took  his  hat.     "  Freyer  is  here !" 

"  Good  Heavens !"  She  clasped  her  hands  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  great  excitement  to  me.  Tell  Anastasia, 
that  she  may  not  learn  the  news  from  strangers.  She  has 
long  been  resigned,  but  of  course  this  will  move  her  deeply ! 
And  above  all,  don't  let  anything  be  said  about  it  in  the  shop, 
I  don't  want  the  tidings  to  get  abroad  in  the  village,  at  least 
through  us.  Farewell !" 

The  burgomaster's  family  enjoyed  a  small  prerogative: 

24 


370  ON   THE   CROSS. 

the  salt  monopoly,  and  a  little  provision  store  where  the  tire- 
less industry  of  the  self-sacrificing  wife  collected  a  few 
groschen,  "  If  I  don't  make  something — who  will  ?"  she 
used  to  say,  with  a  keen  thrust  at  her  husband's  absence  of 
economy.  So  the  burgomaster  did  not  mention  his  extrava- 
gance in  connection  with  the  boots  and  coat.  He  could  not 
bear  even  just  reproaches  now.  "  A  man  was  often  compelled 
to  exceed  his  means  in  a  position  like  his" — but  women  did 
not  understand  that.  Therefore,  as  usual,  he  fled  from 
domestic  lectures  to  the  inaccessible  regions  of  his  office. 

The  burgomastei's  sister  no  longer  lived  in  the  same 
house.  As  she  grew  older,  she  had  moved  into  one  near  the 
church  which  she  inherited  from  her  mother,  where  she  lived 
quietly  alone. 

"Yes,  who's  to  run  over  to  Stasi,"  lamented  the  burgo- 
master's wife,  "when  we  all  have  our  hands  full.  As  if  she 
wouldn't  hear  it  soon  enough.  He'll  never  marry  her! 
Rosel,  Rosel!" 

The  burgomaster's  youngest  daughter,  the  predestined 
Mary  of  the  future,  came  in  from  the  shop. 

"  Run  up  to  your  aunt  and  tell  her  that  Herr  Freyer  has 
come  back,  your  father  says  so !" 

"  Will  he  play  the  Christus  again  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"  How  do  I  know — your  father  didn't  say!  Perhaps  so — 
they  have  no  one.  Oh  dear,  this  Passion  Play  will  be  your 
father's  death  !" 

The  shop-bell,  pleasantest  of  sounds  to  the  anxious  woman, 
rang — customers  must  not  be  kept  waiting,  even  for  a  little 
package  of  coffee.  She  hurried  into  the  shop,  and  Rosel 
to  her  aunt  Stasi. 

This  was  a  good  day  to  the  burgomaster's  worthy  wife. 
The  whole  village  bought  something,  in  order  to  learn  some- 
thing about  the  interesting  event  which  the  Gross  sisters,  of 
course,  had  told  early  in  the  morning.  And,  as  the  burgo- 
master's wife  maintained  absolute  silence,  what  the  people  did 
not  know  they  invented — and  of  course  the  worst  and  most 
improbable  things.  Ere  noon  the  wildest  rumors  were  in 
circulation,  and  parties  had  formed  who  disputed  vehemently 
over  them. 

The  burgomaster's  wife  was  in  the  utmost  distress.    Every- 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  371 

body  wanted  information  from  her,  and  how  easily  she'  might 
let  slip  some  incautious  remark  i  In  her  task  of  keeping 
silence,  she  actually  forgot  that  she  really  had  nothing  at  all 
to  conceal — because  she  knew  nothing  herself.  Yet  the  fear 
of  having  said  a  word  too  much  oppressed  the  conscientious 
woman  so  sorely  that  afterward,  much  to  her  husband's  bene- 
fit, she  was  remarkably  patient  and  spared  him  the  usual  re- 
proach of  not  having  thought  of  his  wife  and  children,  when 
she  discovered  that  he  had  given  away  his  boots  and  coat!  — 
Thus  in  the  strange  little  village  the  loftiest  and  the  low- 
liest things  always  go  hand  in  hand.  But  the  noble  often 
succumbs  to  the  petty,  when  it  lacks  the  power  to  rise  above 
it. 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 


RECEIVED    AGAIN. 

ALL  through  the  morning  the  street  where  Ludwig's  house 
stood  was  crowded  with  people.  Toward  noon  a  whisper 
ran  through  the  throng :  "  He  is  coming !"  and  Freyer  ap- 
peared. Many  pressed  forward  curiously  but  shrank  back 
again  as  Freyer  drew  near.  "  Good  Heavens,  how  he  looks !" 

Freyer  tottered  past  them,  raising  his  hat  in  greeting,  but 
spite  of  his  modest  bearing  and  simple  garb  he  seemed  to 
have  become  so  aristocratic  a  gentleman,  that  no  one  ventured 
to  accost  him.  Something  emanating  from  him  inspired  rev- 
erence, as  if — in  the  presence  of  the  dead.  He  was  dead — 
at  least  to  the  world.  The  people  felt  this  and  the  gossip 
suddenly  ceased — the  parties  formed  in  an  envious  or  mal- 
icious spirit  were  reconciled. 

"  He  won't  live  long !"  This  was  the  magic  spell  which 
^oothed  all  contention.  If  he  had  any  sin  on  his  conscience, 
he  would  soon  atone  for  it,  if  he  had  more  money  than  the 
rest,  he  must  soon  "  leave  it  behind,"  and  if  he  desired  to 
take  a  part  he  could  not  keep  it  long !  Only  the  children 
who  meanwhile  had  grown  into  tall  lads  and  lasses  ran  trust- 
fully to  meet  him,  holding  out  their  hands  with  the  grace  and 
charm  peculiar  to  the  Ammergau  children.  And  because  the 
grown  people  followed  him,  the  little  ones  did  the  same.  He 


372  ON    THE    CROSS. 

/ 

stopped  and  talked  with  them,  recognizing  and  calling  by 
name  each  of  the  older  ones,  while  their  bright  eyes  gazed 
searchingly  into  his,  as  sunbeams  pierce  dark  caverns. 
"  Have  you  been  ill,  Herr  Freyer  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear  children — or  yes,  as  people  may  regard  it, 
but  I  shall  get  well  with  you  !"  And,  clasping  half  a  dozen  of 
the  little  hands  in  his,  he  walked  on  with  them. 

"Will  you  play  the   divine  friend   of  children  with   us 
.again  ?"  asked  one  of  the  larger  girls  beseechingly. 
|       "When  Christmas  comes,  we  will  all  play  it  again!"  A 
'strange  smile  transfigured  Freyer's  features,  and  tears  filled 
his  eyes. 

"  Will  you  stay  with  us  now  ?"  they  asked. 

"Yes!"  It  was  only  a  single  word,  but  the  children  felt 
that  it  was  a  vow,  and  the  little  band  pressed  closer  and 
closer  around  him  :  "  Yes,  now  you  must  never  go  away  !" 

Freyer  lifted  a  little  boy  in  his  arms  and  hid  his  face  on 
the  child's  breast :  "  No,  never,  never  more !" 

A  solemn  silence  reigned  for  a  moment.  The  grief  of  a 
pure  heart  is  sacred,  and  a  child's  soul  feels  the  sacredness. 
The  little  group  passed  quietly  through  the  village,  and  the 
children  formed  a  protecting  guard  around  him,  so  that  the 
grown  people  could  not  hurt  him  with  curious  questions. 
The  children  showed  their  parents  that  peace  must  dwell  be- 
tween him  and  them — for  the  Ammergau  people  knew  that 
in  their  children  dwelt  the  true  spirit  which  they  had  lost  to  a 
greater  or  less  degree  in  the  struggle  for  existence.  The 
children  had  adopted  him — now  he  was  again  at  home  in 
Ammergau ;  no  parish  meeting  was  needed  to  give  him  the 
rights  of  citizenship. 

The  little  procession  reached  the  town-hall.  Freyer  put 
the  child  he  was  carrying  on  the  ground— it  did  not  want  to 
leave  him.  The  grown  people  feared  him,  but  the  children 
considered  him  their  own  property  and  were  reluctant  to  give 
him  up.  Not  until  after  long  persuasion  would  they  let  him 
enter.  As  he  ascended  the  familiar  stairs  his  heart  throbbed 
so  violently  that  he  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the  wall.  A 
long  breath,  a  few  steps  more — then  a  walk  through  the 
empty  council  room  to  the  office,  a  low  knock,  the  well- 
known  "  come  in !" — and  he  stood  before  the  burgomaster. 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  373 

It  is  not  the  custom  among  the  people  of  Ammergau  to  rise 
when  receiving  each  other.  "  Good-morning !"  said  the 
burgomaster,  keeping  his  seat  as  if  to  finish  some  pressing 
task — but  really  because  he  was  struggling  for  composure  : 
"  Directly !" 

Freyer  remained  standing  at  the  door. 

The  burgomaster  went  on  writing.  A  furtive  glance  sur- 
veyed the  figure  in  his  coat  and  shoes — but  he  did  not  raise 
his  eyes  to  Freyer's  face,  the  latter  would  have  seen  it.  At 
last  he  gained  sufficient  composure  to  speak,  and  now  feigned 
to  be  aware  for  the  first  time  of  the  new-comer's  identity. 
"  Ah,  Heir  Freyer !"  he  said,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  men 
met.  It  was  a  sad  sight  to  both. 

The  burgomaster,  once  so  strong  and  stately,  aged, 
shrunken,  prematurely  worn.  Freyer  an  image  of  suffering 
which  was  almost  startling. 

"  Herr  Burgomaster,  I  do  not  know — whether  I  may  still 
venture — " 

"  Pray  take  a  chair,  Herr  Freyer,"  said  the  burgomaster. 

Freyer  did  so,  and  sat  down  at  some  distance. 

"You  do  not  seem  to  have  prospered  very  well,"  said  the 
other,  less  to  learn  the  truth  than  to  commence  conversation. 

"  You  doubtless  see  that." 

"  Yes !  I  could  have  wished  that  matters  had  resulted 

differently!" 

Both  were  silent,  overpowered  by  emotion.  At  the  end  of 
a  few  minutes  the  burgomaster  continued  in  a  low  tone:  "I 
meant  so  well  by  you — it  is  a  pity — ! " 

"Yes,  you  have  much  to  forgive  me,  no  one  knows  that 
better  than  I — but  you  will  not  reject  a  penitent  man,  if  he 
wishes  to  make  amends  for  the  wrong." 

The  burgomaster  rubbed  his  forehead:  " I  do  not  reject 
you,  but — I  have  already  told  the  drawing-master,  I  only  re- 
gret that  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  You  are  not  ill — I  can- 
not support  you  from  the  fund  for  the  sick  and  it  will  be 
difficult  to  accomplish  anything  with  the  parish." 

"  Oh,  Herr  Burgomaster,  I  never  expected  to  be  supported. 
Only,  when  I  arrived  yesterday  I  was  so  weary  that  I  could 
explain  nothing  to  Ludwig,  otherwise  he  would  surely  have 
spared  you  and  me  the  step  which  his  great  sympathy  induced 


374  °N  THE  CROSS. 

him  to  take.  The  clothing  with  which  you  have  helped  me 
out  of  embarrassment  for  the  moment,  I  will  gratefully  accept 
as  loaned,  but  I  hope  to  repay  you  later." 

"  Pray  let  us  say  no  more  about  it!  "  answered  the  burgo- 
master, waving  his  hand. 

"  Yes !  For  it  can  only  shame  me  if  you  generously  be- 
stow material  aid — and  yet  cherish  resentment  against  me  in 
your  heart  for  the  wrong  I  have  done.  What  my  sick  soul 
most  needs  is  reconciliation  with  you  and  my  home.  And  for 
that  I  can  ask." 

"I  am  not  implacable,  Herr  Freyer!  You  have  done  me 
no  personal  wrong — you  have  merely  injured  the  cause  which 
lies  nearest  to  my  heart  of  anything  in  the  world.  This  is  a 
grief,  which  must  be  fought  down,  but  for  which  I  cannot  hold 
you  responsible,  though  it  cost  me  health  and  life.  I  feel  no 
personal  rancor  for  what  had  no  personal  intention.  If  a  man 
flings  a  stone  at  the  image  of  a  saint  and  unintentionally 
strikes  me  on  the  temple,  I  shall  not  make  him  responsible  for 
that — but  for  having  aimed  at  something  which  was  sacred  to 
others.  To  punish  him  for  it  I  shall  leave  to  a  higher  judge." 

"Permit  me  to  remain  silent.  You  must  regard  the  mat- 
ter thus  from  your  standpoint,  and  I  can  show  you  no  better 
one.  The  right  of  defense  is  denied  me.  Only  I  would  fain 
defend  myself  against  the  reproach  that  what  is  sacred  to 
others  is  not  to  me.  Precisely  because  it  is  sacred  to  me — 
perhaps  more  sacred  than  to  others,  I  have  sinned  against  it." 

"That  is  a  contradiction  which  I  do  not  understand!'' 

"And  I  cannot  explain!" 

"Well,  it  is  not  my  business  to  pry  into  your  secrets  and 
judge  your  motives.  I  am  not  your  confessor.  I  told  you 
that  I  left  God  to  judge  such  things.  My  duty  as  burgomas- 
ter requires  me  to  aid  any  member  of  the  parish  to  the  best  of 
my  ability  in  matters  pertaining  to  earning  a  livelihood.  If 
you  will  give  me  your  confidence,  I  am  ready  to  aid  you  with 
advice  and  action.  I  don't  know  what  you  wish  to  do.  You 
gave  your  little  property  to  our  poor — do  you  wish  to  take  it 
back?" 

"  Oh,  never,  Herr  Burgomaster,  I  never  take  back  what  I 
give,"  replied  Freyer. 

"But  you  will  then  find  it  difficult,  more  difficult  than 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  375 

/ 

others,  to  support  yourself,"  the  burgomaster  continued.  "  You 
went  to  the  carving-school  too  late  to  earn  your  bread  by 
wood-carving.  You  know  no  trade — you  are  too  well  educa- 
ted to  pursue  more  menial  occupations,  such  as  those  of  a 
day-laborer,  street-sweeper,  etc. — and  you  would  be  too  proud 
to  live  at  the  expense  of  the  parish,  even  if  we  could  find  a 
way  of  securing  a  maintenance  for  you.  It  is  really  very  dif- 
ficult, one  does  not  know  what  to  say.  Perhaps  a  messenger's 
place  might  be  had — the  carrier  from  Linderhof  has  been  ill 
a  long  time." 

"  Have  no  anxiety  on  that  score,  Heir  Burgomaster.  Du- 
ring my  absence,  I  devoted  my  leisure  time  mainly  to  drawing 
and  modelling.  I  also  read  a  great  deal,  especially  scientific 
works,  so  that  I  believe  I  could  support  myself  by  carving,  if 
I  keep  my  health.  If  that  fails,  I'll  turn  wood-cutter.  The 
forest  will  be  best  for  me.  That  gives  me  no  anxiety." 

The  burgomaster  again  rubbed  his  forehead.  "  Perhaps  if 
the  indignation  roused  by  your  desertion  has  subsided,  it  may 
be  possible  to  give  you  employment  at  the  Passion  Theatre  as 
superintendent,  assistant,  or  in  the  wardrobe  room." 

Freyer  rose,  2.  burning  blush  crimsoned  his  face,  instantly 
followed  by  a  deathlike  pallor.  "You  are  not  in  earnest,  Herr 
Burgomaster — I — render  menial  service  in  the  Passion — I  ? 
Then  woe  betide  the  home  which  turns  her  sons  from  her 
threshold  with  mockery  and  disgrace,  when  they  seek  her  with 
the  yearning  and  repentance  of  mature  manhood." 

Freyer  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  grief  robbed  him 
of  speech. 

The  burgomaster  gave  him  a  moment's  time  to  calm  him- 
self. "Yes,  Herr  Freyer,  but  tell  me,  do  you  expect,  after  all 
that  has  occurred,  to  be  made  the  Christus  ?  " 

"What  else  should  I  expect?  For  what  other  purpose 
should  /come  here  than  to  aid  the  community  in  need,  for  my 
dead  cousin  Josepha  received  a  letter  from  one  of  our  rela- 
tives here,  stating  that  you  had  no  Christus  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  It  seemed  to  me  like  a  snmmons  from  Heaven 
and  I  knew  at  that  moment  where  my  place  was  allotted. 
Life  had  no  farther  value  for  me — one  thought  only  sustained 
me,  to  be  something  to  my  home,  to  repair  the  injury  I  had 
done  her,  atone  for  the  sin  I  had  committed — and  this  time  I 


376  ON    THE    CROSS. 

should  have  accomplished  it.  I  walked  night  and  day,  with 
one  desire  in  my  heart,  one  goal  before  my  eyes,  and  now — to 
be  rejected  thus — oh,  it  is  too  much,  it  is  the  last  blow!" 

"  Herr  Freyer — I  am  extremely  sorry,  and  can  understand 
how  it  must  wound  you,  yet  you  must  see  yourself  that  we 
cannot  instantly  give  a  man  who  voluntarily,  not  to  say  wil- 
fully, deserted  us  and  remained  absent  so  long  that  he  has  be- 
come a  stranger,  the  most  important  part  in  the  Play  when 
want  forces  him  to  again  seek  a  livelihood  in  Ammergau." 

"  I  am  become  a  stranger  because  I  remained  absent  ten 
years  ?  May  God  forgive  you,  Herr  Burgomaster.  We  must 
both  render  an  account  to  Him  of  our  fulfilment  of  His  sacred 
mission — He  will  then  decide  which  of  us  treasured  His  image 
more  deeply  in  his  heart — you  here — or  I  in  the  world  out- 
side." 

1  "  That  is  very  beautiful  and  sounds  very  noble — but,  Herr 
Freyer,  you  prove  nothing  by  your  appeal  to  God,  He  is  pa- 
tient and  the  day  which  must  bring  this  decision  is,  I  hope, 
still  far  distant  from  you  and  myself! " 

"It  is  perhaps  nearer  to  me  than  you  suppose,  Herr  Burgo- 
master ! " 

"  Such  phrases  touch  women,  but  not  men,  Herr  Freyer!  " 

Freyer  straightened  himself  like  a  bent  bush  which  sud- 
penly  shakes  off  the  snow  that  burdened  it.  "  I  have  not  de- 
sired to  touch  any  one,  my  conscience  is  clear,  and  I  do  not 
need  to  appeal  to  your  compassion.  A  person  may  be  ill  and 
feeble  enough  to  long  for  sympathy,  without  intending  to  profit 
by  it.  I  thought  that  I  might  let  my  heart  speak,  that  I 
should  be  understood  here.  I  was  mistaken.  It  is  not  /who 
have  become  estranged  from  my  home — home  has  grown 
alienated  from  me  and  you,  as  the  ruling  power  in  the  com- 
munity, who  might  mediate  between  us,  sever  the  last  bond 
which  united  me  to  it.  Answer  for  it  one  day  to  Ammergau, 
if  you  expel  those  who  would  shed  their  heart's  blood  for  you, 
and  to  whom  the  cause  of  the  Passion  Play  is  still  an  earnest 
one." 

"  Oh,  Herr  Freyer,  it  would  be  sad  indeed  if  we  were  com- 
pelled to  seek  earnest  supporters  of  our  cause  in  the  ranks  of 
the  deserters — who  abandoned  us  from  selfish  motives." 

"  Herr  Burgomaster! — "Freyer  reflected  a  moment — it  was 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  377 

difficult  to  fathom  what  was  passing  in  his  mind — it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  gathering  strength  from  the  inmost  depths  of  his 
heart  to  answer  this  accusation.  "It  is  a  delicate  matter  ro 
speak  in  allegories,  where  deeds  are  concerned — you  began  it 
out  of  courtesy  to  me — and  I  will  continue  from  the  same  mo- 
tive, though  figurative  language  is  not  to  my  taste — we  strike 
a  mark  in  life  without  having  aimed!  But  to  keep  to  your 
simile:  I  have  only  deserted  in  my  own  person,  if  you  choose 
to  call  it  so,  and  have  now  voluntarily  returned — But  you, 
Herr  Burgomaster,  how  have  you  guarded,  in  my  absence,  the 
fortress  entrusted  to  your  care  ?  " 

The  burgomaster  flushed  crimson,  but  his  composure  re- 
mained unshaken:  "Well  ?" 

"  You  have  opened  your  gates  to  the  most  dangerous  foes, 
to  everything  which  cannot  fail  to  destroy  the  good  old  Am- 
mergau  customs ;  you  have  done  everything  to  attract 
strangers  and  help  Ammergau  in  a  business  way — it  was  well 
meant  in  the  material  sense — but  not  in  the  ideal  one  which 
you  emphasize  so  rigidly  in  my  case !  The  more  you  open 
Ammergau  to  the  influences  of  the  outside  world,  the  more 
the  simplicity,  the  piety,  the  temperance  will  vanish,  without 
which  no  great  work  of  faith  like  the  Passion  Play  is  possible. 
The  world  has  a  keen  appreciation  of  truth — the  world  be- 
lieves in  us  because  we  ourselves  believe  in  it — as  soon  as  we 
progress  so  far  in  civilization  that  it  becomes  a  farce  to  our 
minds,  we  are  lost,  for  then  it  will  be  a  farce  to  the  world  also. 
You  intend  to  secure  in  the  Landrath  the  cutting  of  a  road 
through  the  Ettal  Mountain.  That  would  be  a  great  feat — 
one  might  say :  '  Faith  removes  mountains,'  for  on  account  of 
the  Passion  Play  consent  would  perhaps  be  granted,  then 
your  name,  down  to  the  latest  times,  would  be  mentioned  in 
the  history  of  Ammergau  with  gratitude  and  praise.  But  do 
you  know  what  you  will  have  done  ?  You  will  have  let  down 
the  drawbridge  to  the  mortal  foe  of  everything  for  which  you 
battle,  removed  the  wall  which  protected  the  individuality  of 
Ammergau  and  amid  all  the  changes  of  the  times,  the  equaliz- 
ing power  of  progress,  has  kept  it  that  miracle  of  faith  to 
which  the  world  makes  pilgrimages.  For  a  time  the  world 
will  come  in  still  greater  throngs  by  the  easier  road — but  in  a 
few  decades  it  will  no  longer  find  the  Ammergau  it  seeks — its 


378  ON    THE    CROSS. 

flood  will  have  submerged  it,  washed  it  away,  and  a  new, 
prosperous,  politic  population  will  move  upon  the  ruins  of  a 
vanished  lime  and  a  buried  tradition. 

"  Freyer !"  The  burgomaster  was  evidently  moved:  "  You 
see  the  matter  in  too  dark  colors — we  are  still  the  old  people 
of  Ammergau  and  God  will  help  us  to  remain  so." 

"  No,  you  are  so  no  longer.  Already  there  are  traces  of  a 
different,  more  practical  view  of  life — of  so-called  progress.  I 
read  to-day  at  Ludwig's  the  play-bills  of  the  practise  theatre 
which  you  have  established  during  the  last  ten  years  since  the 
Passion  Play !  Herr  Burgomaster,  have  you  kept  in  view  the 
seriousness  of  the  mission  of  Ammergau  when  you  made  the 
actors  of  the  Passion  buffoons  ?" 

"  Freyer !"  The  burgomaster  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"  Well,  Herr  Burgomaster,  have  you  performed  no  farces, 
or  at  least  comic  popular  plays  ?  Was  the  Carver  of  Ammer- 
gau— -which  for  two  years  you  had  publicly  performed  on  the 
consecrated  ground  of  the  Passion  Theatre,  adapted  to  keep 
the  impression  of  the  Passion  Play  in  the  souls  of  the  people 
of  Ammergau  ?  No — the  last  tear  of  remembrance  which 
might  have  lingered  would  be  dried  by  the  exuberant  mirth, 
which  once  roused  would  only  too  willingly  exchange  the  un- 
comfortable tiara  for  the  lighter  fool's  cap !  And  you  gave  the 
world  this  spectacle,  Herr  Burgomaster,  you  showed  the  per- 
sonators  of  the  story  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour's  sufferings  in 
this  guise  to  the  strangers,  who  came,  still  full  of  reverence,  to 
see  the  altar — on  which  the  sacred  fire  had  smouldered  into 
smoke  !  I  know  you  will  answer  that  you  wished  to  give  the 
people  a  little  breathing  space  after  the  terrible  earnestness  of 
the  Passion  Play  and,  from  your  standpoint,  this  was  prudent, 
for  you  will  be  the  gainer  if  the  community  is  cheerful  under 
your  rule.  Happy  people  are  more  easily  governed  than 
grave,  thoughtful  ones !  I  admit  that  you  have  no  other 
desire  than  to  make  the  people  happy  according  to  your  idea, 
and  that  your  whole  ambition  is  to  leave  Ammergau  great 
and  rich.  But,  Herr  Burgomaster,  you  cannot  harmonize  the 
two  objects  of  showing  the  world,  with  convincing  truth,  the 
sublime  religion  of  pain  and  resignation,  and  living  in  ease  and 
careless  frivolity.  The  divine  favor  cannot  be  purchased 
without  the  sacrifice  of  pleasure  and  personal  comfort,  other- 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  379 

wise  we  are  merely  performing  a  puppet  show  with  God,  and 
His  blessing  will  be  withdrawn." 

Freyer  paused  and  stood  gazing  into  vacancy  with  folded 
arms. 

The  burgomaster  watched  him  calmly  a  long  time.  "  j 
have  listened  to  you  quietly  because  your  view  of  the  matter 
interested  me.  It  is  the  idea  of  an  enthusiast,  a  character  be- 
coming more  and  more  rare  in  our  prosaic  times.  But 
pardon  me — I  can  give  it  only  a  subjective  value.  According 
to  your  theory,  I  must  keep  Ammergau,  as  a  bit  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  from  any  contact  with  the  outside  world,  rob  it  of  every 
aid  in  the  advancement  of  its  industrial  and  material  interests 
in  order,  as  it  were,  to  prepare  the  unfortunate  people,  by 
want  and  trouble,  to  be  worthy  representatives  of  the  Passion. 
This  would  be  admirable  if,  instead  of  Burgomaster  of  Am- 
mergau, I  were  Grand  Master  of  an  Order  for  the  practice  of 
spiritual  asceticism — and  Ammergau  were  a  Trappist  monas- 
tery. But  as  burgomaster  of  a  secular  community,  I  must  first 
of  all  provide  for  its  prosperity,  and  that  this  would  produce 
too  much  luxury  there  is  not,  as  yet,  unfortunately,  the 
slightest  prospect !  My  task  as  chief  magistrate  of  a  place  is 
first  to  render  it  as  great,  rich,  and  happy  as  possible,  that  is 
a  direct  obligation  to  the  village  and  an  indirect  one  to  the 
State.  Not  until  I  have  satisfied  this  can  I  consider  the 
more  ideal  side  of  my  office — in  my  capacity  as  director  of 
the  Passion  Play.  But  even  there  I  have  no  authority  to  ex- 
ercise any  moral  constraint  in  the  sense  of  your  noble — but 
fanatical  and  unpractical  view.  You  must  have  had  bitter 
experiences,  Herr  Freyer,  that  you  hold  earthly  blessings  so 
cheap,  and  you  must  not  expect  to  convert  simple-hearted 
people,  who  enjoy  their  lives  and  their  work,  to  these  pessi- 
mistic views,  as  if  we  could  serve  our  God  only  with  a 
troubled  mind.  We  must  let  a  people,  as  well  as  a  single 
person,  retain  its  individuality.  I  want  to  rear  no  hypocrites, 
and  I  cannot  force  martyrdom  on  any  one,  in  order  to  repre- 
sent the  Passion  Play  more  naturally.  Such  things  cannot  be 
enforced." 

"  For  that  very  reason  you  need  people  who  will  do  them 
voluntarily!  And  though,  thank  Heaven,  they  still  exist  in 
Ammergau,  you  have  not  such  an  over  supply  that  you  need 


380  ON   THE    CROSS. 

repel  those  who  would  fain  increase  the  little  band.  Believe 
me,  I  have  lived  in  closer  communion  with  my  home  in  the 
outside  world  than  if  I  had  remained  here  and  been  swayed 
by  the  various  opposing  streams  of  our  brothers'  active  lives ! 
Do  you  know  where  the  idea  of  the  Passion  Play  reveals  it- 
self in  its  full  beauty  ?  Not  here  in  Ammergau — but  in  the 
world  outside — as  the  gas  does  not  give  its  light  where  it  is 
prepared,  but  at  a  distance.  Therefore,  I  think  you  ought 
not  to  measure  a  son  of  Ammergau's  claim  according  to  the 
time  he  has  spent  here,  but  according  to  the  feeling  he  cher- 
ishes for  Ammergau,  and  in  this  sense  even  the  stranger  may 
be  a  better  representative  of  Ammergau  than  the  natives  of 
the  village  themselves." 

"  Yes,  Freyer,  you  are  right — but — one  frank  word  deserves 
another.  You  have  surprised  and  touched  me — but  although 
I  am  compelled  to  make  many  concessions  to  circumstances 
and  the  spirit  of  the  times,  which  are  in  contradiction  to  my 
own  views  and  involve  me  in  conflicts  with  myself,  of  which 
you  younger  men  probably  have  no  idea — nothing  in  the 
world  will  induce  me  to  be  faithless  to  my  principles  in  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  Passion.  Forgive  the  harsh  words, 
Freyer,  but  I  must  say  it :  Your  actions  do  not  agree  with  the 
principles  you  have  just  uttered,  and  you  cannot  make  this 
contradiction  appear  plausible  to  any  one.  Who  will  credit 
the  sincerity  of  your  moral  rigor  after  you  have  lived  nine 
years  in  an  equivocal  relation  with  the  lady  with  whom  you 
left  us?  Freyer,  a  man  who  has  done  that — can  no  longer 
personate  the  Christ." 

Freyer  stood  silent  as  a  statue. 

The  burgomaster  held  out  his  hand — "  You  see  that  I 
cannot  act  otherwise;  do  you  not?  Rather  let  the  Play  die 
out  utterly  than  a  Christus  on  whom  rests  a  stain.  So  long 
as  you  cannot  vindicate  yourself — " 

Freyer  drew  himself  proudly :  "  And  that  I  will  never 
do!" 

"  You  must  renounce  it." 

"Yes,  I  must  renounce  it.     Farewell,  Herr  Burgomaster!" 

Freyer  bowed  and  left  the  room — he  was  paler  than  when 
he  entered,  but  no  sound  betrayed  the  mortal  anguish  gnaw- 
ing at  his  heart.  The  burgomaster,  too,  was  painfully  moved. 


RECEIVED    AGAIN.  381 

His  poor  head  was  burning — he  was  sorry  for  Freyer,  but  he 
could  not  do  otherwise. 

Just  as  Freyer  reached  the  door,  a  man  hurried  in  with  a 
letter.  Freyer  recognized  the  large  well-known  chirography 
on  the  envelope  as  he  passed — Countess  Wildenau's  hand- 
writing. His  brain  reeled,  and  he  was  compelled  to  cling  to 
the  door  post.  The  burgomaster  noticed  it.  "  Please  sit 
down  a  moment,  Herr  Freyer — the  letter  is  addressed  to  me, 
but  will  probably  concern  you." 

The  man  retired.     Freyer  stood  irresolute. 

The  burgomaster  read  the  contents  of  the  note  at  a  glance, 
then  handed  it  to  Freyer. 

"  Thank  you — I  do  not  read  letters  which  are  not  directed 
to  me." 

"  Very  well,  then  I  must  tell  you.  The  Countess  Wild- 
enau,  not  having  your  address,  requests  me  to  take  charge  of 
a  considerable  sum  of  money  which  I  am  to  invest  for  you  in 
landed  property  or  in  stocks,  according  to  my  own  judgment. 
You  were  not  to  hear  of  it  until  the  gift  had  been  legally  at- 
tested. But  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  of  this." 

Freyer  stood  calmly  before  him,  with  a  clear,  steadfast 
gaze.  "  I  cannot  be  forced  to  accept  a  gift  if  I  do  not  desire 
it,  can  I?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"Then  please  write  to  the  countess  that  I  can  accept 
neither  gifts  nor  any  kind  of  assistance  from — strangers,  and 
that  you,  as  well  as  I,  will  positively  decline  every  attempt  to 
show  her  generosity  in  this  way." 

"Freyer!"  cried  the  burgomaster,  "will  you  not  some  day 
repent  the  pride  which  rejects  a  fortune  thus  flung  into  your 
lap?" 

"  I  am  not  proud — I  begged  my  bread  on  my  way  here, 
Herr  Burgomaster — and  if  there  were  no  other  means  of  live- 
lihood, I  would  not  be  ashamed  to  accept  the  crust  the  poor- 
est man  would  share  with  me — but  from  Countess  Wildenau  I 
will  receive  nothing — I  would  rather  starve." 

The  burgomaster  sprang  from  his  chair  and  approached 
him.  His  gaunt  figure  was  trembling  with  emotion,  his  weary 
eyes  flashed  with  enthusiasm,  he  extended  his  arms:  "Freyer 


382  ON   THE    CROSS. 

' — now  you  belong  to  us  once  more — now  you  shall  again 
the  Christus." 

Silently,  in  unutterable,  mournful  happiness,  Freyer  sank 
upon  the  burgomaster's  breast. 

His  home  was  appeased. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


AT  DAISENBERGER'S  GRAVE. 

IT  was  high  noon.  The  children  were  at  school,  the  grown 
people  had  gone  to  their  work.  The  village  was  silent  and  no 
one  stopped  Freyer  as  he  hurried  down  the  broad  old  "Aus- 
sergasse,"  as  the  main  street  of  the  place  was  called,  with  its 
painted  houses,  toward  the  graveyard  and  the  church. 

In  the  cemetery  beside  the  church  stands  a  simple  monu- 
ment with  a  bronze  bust.  An  unlovely  head  with  all  sorts  of 
lines,  as  if  nature  had  intentionally  given  this  soul  an  ugly 
husk,  out  of  wrath  that  it  was  not  to  be  hers,  that  she  could 
not  have  as  much  power  over  it  as  over  other  dust-born  mor- 
tals— for  this  soul  belonged  to  Heaven,  earth  had  no  share  in 
it.  But  no  matter  how  nature  strove  to  disfigure  it,  its  pure 
beauty  shone  through  the  physical  covering  so  radiantly  that 
even  mortal  eyes  perceived  only  the  beauty  and  overlooked 
the  ugliness. 

This  soul,  which  might  also  be  called  the  soul  of  Ammer- 
gau,  for  it  cherished  the  whole  population  of  the  village,  lived 
for  the  people,  gave  them  all  and  kept  nothing  for  itself — this 
noble  spirit,  to  whom  the  gratitude  of  the  survivors,  and  they 
embraced  the  whole  community,  had  created  a  monument, 
was  Alois  Daisenberger — the  reformer  of  the  Passion  Play. 

It  is  a  peculiar  phenomenon  that  the  people  of  Ammergau, 
in  contrast  to  all  others,  are  grateful  only  for  intellectual  gifts 
while  they  punish  physical  benefits  with  scorn.  It  offends 
their  pride  to  be  compelled  to  accept  such  trifling  donations 
and  they  cherish  a  suspicion  that  the  donor  may  boast  of  his 
benefits.  Whoever  has  not  the  self-denial  to  allay  this  suspi- 
cion by  enduring  all  sorts  of  humiliations  and  affronts  must 
not  try  to  aid  the  Ammergau  villagers.  He  who  has  done  any 


AT  DAISENBERGER'S  GRAVE.  383 

good  deed  has  accomplished  nothing — not  until  he  has  atoned 
for  it,  as  though  it  were  something  evil,  does  he  lend  it  its 
proper  value  and  appease  the  offended  pride  of  the  recipient. 

This  was  the  case  with  Daisenberger.  He  bore  with  saintly 
patience  all  the  angularities  and  oddities  of  these  strange  char- 
acters— and  they  honored  him  as  a  saint  for  it.  He  had  the 
eye  of  genius  for  the  natural  talent,  a  heart  for  the  sufferings, 
appreciation  of  the  intellectual  grandeur  of  these  people.  And 
he  gave  security  for  it — for  no  worldly  honor,  no  bishopric 
which  was  offered  could  lure  him  away.  What  was  it  that  out- 
weighed everything  with  which  church  and  government  desired 
to  honor  him  ?  Whoever  stands  in  the  quiet  graveyard,  fan- 
ned by  the  keen  mountain  air  which  brings  from  the  village 
stray  notes  of  a  requiem  that  is  being  practised,  surrounded  by 
snow-clad  mountain-peaks  gazing  dreamily  down  on  the  little 
mound  with  its  tiny  cross,  whoever  gazes  at  the  monument 
with  its  massive  head,  looking  down  upon  the  village  from 
beneath  a  garland  of  fresh  blue  gentians,  is  overwhelmed  by  a 
mournful  suspicion  that  here  is  concealed  a  secret  in  which  a 
great  intellect  could  find  the  satisfaction  of  its  life!  But  it 
seems  as  if  the  key  rested  in  Daisenberger's  grave. 

To  this  grave  Freyer  hastened.  The  first  errand  of  the  re- 
turned personator  of  Christ  was  to  his  author!  The  solitary 
grave  lay  forgotten  by  the  world.  It  is  a  genuine  work  of  faith 
and  love  when  the  author  vanishes  in  his  creation  and  leaves 
the  honor  to  God.  The  whole  world  flocks  to  the  Passion 
Play — but  no  one  thinks  of  him  who  created  for  it  the  form 
which  renders  it  available  for  the  present  time.  It  is  the 
"  Oberammergau,"  not  the  "  Daisenberger  "  Passion  Play. 

He  gave  to  the  people  of  Ammergau  not  only  his  life  and 
powers — but  also  that  which  a  man  is  most  loth  to  resign — his 
fame.  He  was  one  to  whom  earth  could  neither  give  any- 
thing, nor  take  anything  away.  Therefore  there  were  few  who 
visited  his  grave  in  the  little  Ammergau  churchyard.  The 
grace  and  beauty  of  his  grand  and  noble  artist  soul  weave 
viewless  garlands  for  it. 

Freyer  knelt  in  mute  devotion  beside  the  grave  and  prayed, 
not  for  himself,  not  even  for  him  who  was  one  of  the  host  of 
the  blessed,  but  to  him,  that  he  might  sanctify  his  people  and 
strengthen  them  with  the  sacred  earnestness  of  their  task. 


384  ON   THE    CROSS. 

The  longer  he  gazed  at  the  iron,  yet  gentle  face,  without  see- 
ing any  change  in  the  familiar  features,  which  had  once  smiled 
so  kindly  at  him  when  he  uttered  for  the  first  time  the  words 
expelling  the  money-changers  from  the  temple — the  greater 
became  his  grief,  as  if  the  soul  of  his  people  had  died  with 
Daisenberger,  as  if  Ammergau  were  only  a  graveyard  and  he 
the  sole  mourner. 

"  Oh,  great,  noble  soul,  which  had  room  for  a  world,  and 
yet  confined  yourself  to  this  narrow  valley  in  order  to  create 
in  it  for  us  a  world  of  love — here  lies  your  unworthy  Christus 
moistening  with  his  tears  the  stone  which  no  angel  will  roll 
away  that  we  may  touch  your  transfigured  body  and  say,  give 
us  thy  spirit !  " 

Then,  as  if  the  metal  mouth  from  which  he  implored  an 
answer  spoke  with  a  brazen  tongue,  a  bell  echoed  solemnly  on 
the  air.  It  was  twelve  o'clock.  What  the  voice  said  could 
not  be  clothed  in  words.  It  had  exhorted  him  when,  in  bap- 
tism, he  was  received  into  the  covenant  of  Him  whom  he  was 
chosen  to  personate — it  had  consoled  him  when,  a  weeping 
boy,  he  followed  his  father's  bier,  it  had  threatened  him  when 
on  Sunday  with  his  schoolmates,  he  pulled  too  violently  at  the 
bell-rope,  it  had  warned  him  when  he  had  lingered  high  up  on 
the  peaks  of  the  Kofel  or  Laaber  searching  for  Alpine  roses 
or,  shouting  exultantly,  climbing  after  chamois.  A  smile  flitted 
over  his  face  as  he  thought  of  those  days!  And  then — then 
that  very  bell  had  pealed  resonantly,  like  a  voice  from  another 
world,  on  the  morning  of  the  Passion,  at  the  hour  when  he  stood 
in  the  robes  of  the  Christ  behind  the  curtain  with  the  others  to 
repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  before  the  performance — the  lofty, 
fervent  prayer  that  God  would  aid  them,  that  all  might  go 
well  "for  His  honor."  And  again  it  had  rung  solemnly  and 
sweetly,  when  he  saw  the  beautiful  woman  praying  at  dawn  in 
the  garden — to  the  imaginary  God,  which  he  was  not.  Then 
it  seemed  as  if  the  bell  burst — there  was  a  shrill  discord,  a 
keen  pang  through  brain  and  heart.  Oh,  memory — the  past! 
Angel  and  fiend  at  once — why  do  you  conjure  up  your  visions 
before  one  dedicated  to  the  cross  and  to  death,  why  do  you 
rouse  the  longing  for  what  is  irrevocably  lost  ?  Freyer,  groan- 
ing aloud,  rested  his  damp  brow  against  the  cold  stone,  and 
the  bronze  bust,  as  if  in  pity,  dropped  a  blue  gentian  from  its 


AT  DAISENBERGER'S  GRAVE.  385 

garland  on  the  penitent's  head  with  a  light  touch,  like  a  kiss 
from  spirit  lips.  He  took  it  and  placed  it  in  his  pocketbook 
beside  the  child's  fair  curl — the  only  thing  left  him  of  all  his 
vanished  happiness. 

Then  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder:  "I  thank  you — 
that  this  was  your  first  visit."  The  sexton  stood  before  him: 
"  I  see  that  you  have  remained  a  true  son  of  Ammergau.  May 
God  be  with  you!" 

Freyer's  tears  fell  as  he  grasped  the  extended  hand.  "  Oh, 
noble  blood  of  Daisenberger,  thank  you  a  thousand  times. 
And  you,  true  son  of  Ammergau — nephew  of  our  dead  guar- 
dian angel,  tell  me  in  his  name,  will  you  receive  me  again  in 
your  midst  and  in  the  sacred  work  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  have  done  and  experienced," 
said  the  sexton,  gazing  at  him  with  his  large,  loyal  brown  eyes. 
"  I  only  saw  you  at  a  distance,  praying  beside  my  uncle's 
grave,  and  I  thought  that  whoever  did  that  could  not  be  lost 
to  us.  By  this  dear  grave,  I  give  you  my  hand.  Will  you 
work  with  me,  live,  and  if  need  be  die  for  the  sacred  will  of 
this  dead  man,  for  our  great  task,  as  he  cherished  it  in  his 
heart  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  amen !  " 

"  Then  may  God  bless  you." 

The  two  men  looked  earnestly  and  loyally  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  their  hands  clasped  across  the  consecrated 
mound,  as  though  taking  an  oath. 

Suddenly  a  woman,  still  beautiful  though  somewhat  be- 
yond youth,  appeared,  moving  with  dignified  cordiality  to- 
ward Freyer:  "Good-day,  Herr  Freyer;  do  you  remember 
me  ?  "  she  said  in  a  quiet,  musical  voice,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"  Mary !  "  cried  Freyer,  clasping  it.  "  Anastasia,  why 
should  I  not  remember  you  ?  How  do  you  do  ?  But  why 
do  you  call  me  Herr  Freyer  ?  Have  we  become  strange:.:  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  ought  not  to  use  the  old  form  of  speech, 
you  have  been  away  so  long,  and" — she  paused  an  instant, 
looking  at  him  with  a  pitying  glance,  as  if  to  say :  "  And  are 
so  unhappy."  For  delicate  .natures  respect  misfortune  more 
than  rank  and  wealth,  and  the  sufferer  is  sacred  to  them. 

The  sexton  looked  at  the  clock :  "  I  must  go,  the  vesper 

25 


386  ON   THE   CROSS. 

service  begins  again  at  one  o'clock.     Farewell  till  we  meet 
again.     Are  you  coming  to  the  gymnasium  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Hardly — I  am  not  very  well.  But  we  shall  see  each 
other  soon.  Are  you  married  now?  I  have  not  asked — " 

The  sexton's  face  beamed  with  joy.  "  Yes,  indeed,  and 
well  married.  I  have  a  good  wife.  You'll  see  her  when  you 
call  on  me." 

"  A  good  wife — you  are  a  happy  man ! "  said  Freyer  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  She  has  a  great  deal  to  do  just  now  for  the  little  one." 

"  Ah — you  have  a  child,  too  !  " 

"And  such  a  beautiful  one!"  added  Anastasia.  "A 
lovely  little  girl !  She  will  be  a  Mary  some  day.  But  the 
sexton's  wife  is  spoiling  her,  she  hardly  lets  her  out  of  her 
arms." 

"  A  good  mother — that  must  be  beautiful !  "  said  Freyer, 
with  a  strange  expression,  as  if  speaking  in  a  dream.  Then 
he  pressed  his  friend's  hand  and  turned  to  go. 

"Will  you  not  bid  me  good  bye,  too?  "  asked  Anastasia. 
The  sexton  sadly  made  a  sign  behind  Freyer's  back,  as  if  to  • 
say :  "  he  has  suffered  sorely  !  "  and  went  into  his  church. 

Freyer  turned  quickly.  "  Yes,  I  forgot,  my  Mary.  I  am 
rude,  am  I  not  ?  " 

"  No — not  rude — only  unhappy  !  "  said  Anastasia,  while  a 
pitying  look  rested  upon  his  emaciated  face. 

"  Yes !  "  replied  Freyer,  lowering  his  lids  as  if  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  read  in  his  eyes  how  unhappy.  But  she  saw  it 
nevertheless.  For  a  time  the  couple  stood  beside  Daisen- 
berger's  grave.  "  If  he  were  only  alive — he  would  know 
what  would  help  you." 

Freyer  shook  his  head.  "  If  Christ  Himself  should  come 
from  Heaven,  He  could  not  help  me,  at  least  except  through 
my  faith  in  Him." 

"Joseph,  will  you  not  go  home  with  me  ?  Look  down 
yonder,  there  is  my  house.  It  is  very  pretty ;  come  with  me. 
I  shall  consider  it  an  honor  if  you  will  stop  there !  "  She 
led  the  way.  Freyer  involuntarily  followed,  and  they  soon 
reached  the  little  house. 

"Then  you  no  longer  live  with  your  brother,  the  burgo- 
master ?  " 


AT  DAISENBERGER'S  GRAVE.  387 

"  Oh,  no !  After  I  grew  older  I  longed  for  rest  and  soli- 
tude, and  at  my  sister-in-law's  there  is  always  so  much  bustle 
on  account  of  the  shop  and  the  children — one  hears  so  many 
painful  things  said — "  She  paused  in  embarrassment.  Then 
opening  the  door  into  the  little  garden,  they  went  to  the 
rear  of  the  house  where  they  could  sit  on  a  bench  undis- 
turbed. 

"  What  you  heard  was  undoubtedly  about  me,  and  you 
could  not  endure  it.  You  faithful  soul — was  not  that  the 
reason  you  left  your  relatives  and  lived  alone  ?  "  said  Freyer, 
seating  himself.  "  Be  frank — were  you  not  obliged  to  hear 
many  things  against  me,  till  you  at  last  doubted  your  old 
schoolmate  ?  " 

"  Yes — many  evil  things  were  said  of  you  and  the  prin- 
cess— but  I  never  believed  them.  I  do  not  know  what  hap- 
pened, but  whatever  it  was,_}^#  did  nothing  wrong." 

"  Mary,  where  did  you  obtain  this  confidence  ?  " 

"  Why,"  she  answered  smiling,  "  surely  I  know  my  son — 
and  what  mother  would  distrust  her  child?" 

Freyer  was  deeply  moved:  "Oh,  you  virgin  mother. 
Marvel  of  Heaven,  when  in  the  outside  world  a  mother 
abandoned  her  own  child — here  a  child  was  maturing  into  a 
mother  for  me,  a  mother  who  would  have  compassion  on 
the  deserted  one.  Mary,  pure  maid-servant  of  God,  how 
have  I  deserved  this  mercy  ?  " 

"  I  always  gave  you  a  mother's  love,  from  the  time  we 
played  together,  and  I  have  mourned  for  you  as  a  mother 
all  the  nine  years.  But  I  believed  in  you  and  hoped  that 
you  would  some  day  return  and  close  your  old  mother's 
eyes  and,  though  twenty  years  had  passed,  1  should  not  have 
ceased  to  hope.  I  was  right,  and  you  have  come !  Ah !  I 
would  not  let  myself  dream  that  I  should  ever  play  with  you 
again  in  the  Passion — ever  hold  my  Christus  in  my  arms 
and  support  his  weary  head  when  he  is  taken  down  from  the 
cross.  That  happiness  transcends  every  other  joy  !  True,  I 
am  an  old  maid  now,  and  I  wonder  that  they  should  let 
me  take  the  part  again.  I  am  thirty-nine,  you  know,  rather 
old  for  the  Mary,  yet  I  think  it  will  be  more  natural,  for 
Mary,  too,  was  old  when  Christ  was  crucified !  " 


388  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"  Thirty-nine,  and  still  unmarried — such  a  beautiful  crea- 
ture— how  did  that  happen,  Mary  ?  " 

She  smiled :  "  Oh,  I  did  not  wish  to  marry  any  one. — I 
could  not  care  for  any  one  as  I  did  for  my  Christus  !  " 

"  Great  Heaven,  is  this  on  my  conscience  too  ?  A  whole 
life  wasted  in  silent  hope,  love,  and  fidelity  to  me — smiling 
and  unreproachful !  This  soul  might  have  been  mine,  this 
flower  bloomed  for  me  in  the  quiet  home  valley,  and  I  left  it 
to  wither  while  searing  heart  and  brain  in  the  outside  world. 
Mary,  I  will  not  believe  that  you  have  lost  your  life  for  my 
sake — you  are  still  so  beautiful,  you  will  yet  love  and  be 
happy  at  some  good  man's  side." 

"  Oh,  no,  what  fancy  have  you  taken  into  your  head ! 
That  was  over  long  ago,"  she  answered  gayly.  "  I  am  a 
year  older  than  you — too  old  for  a  woman.  Look,  when  the 
hair  is  grey,  one  no  longer  thinks  of  marrying."  And  push- 
ing back  her  thick  brown  hair  from  her  temples,  she  showed 
beneath  white  locks — as  white  as  snow  ! 

"  Oh,  you  have  grown  grey,  perhaps  for  me — !  "  he  said, 
deeply  moved. 

"  Yes,  maternal  cares  age  one  early." 

He  flung  himself  in  the  grass  before  her,  unable  to  speak. 
She  passed  her  hand  gently  over  his  bowed  head :  "  Ah,  if 
my  poor  son  had  only  returned  a  happy  man — how  my  heart 
would  have  rejoiced.  If  you  had  brought  back  a  dear  wife 
from  the  city,  I  would  have  helped  her,  done  the  rough  work 
to  which  she  was  not  accustomed — and  if  you  had  had  a 
child,  how  I  would  have  watched  and  tended  it !  If  it  had 
been  a  boy,  we  would  have  trained  him  to  be  the  Christus — 
would  we  not  ?  Then  for  twenty  years  he  could  have  played 
it — your  image." 

Freyer  started  as  though  the  words  had  pierced  his  inmost 
soul.  She  did  not  suspect  it,  and  went  on  :  "  Then  perhaps 
the  Christus  might  have  descended  from  child  to  grandchild 
in  your  family — that  would  have  been  beautiful." 

He  made  no  reply;  a  low  sob  escaped  his  breast. 

"  I  have  often  imagined  such  things  during  the  long  years 
when  1  sat  alone  through  the  winter  evenings !  But  unfortu- 
nately it  has  not  resulted  so !  You  return  a  poor  lonely  man 
— and  silver  threads  are  shining  in  your  hair  too.  When  I 


THE    WATCHWORD.  389 

look  at  them,  I  long  to  weep.  What  did  those  wicked 
strangers  in  the  outside  world  do  to  you,  my  poor  Joseph, 
that  you  are  so  pale  and  ill  ?  It  seems  as  if  they  had  cruci- 
fied you  and  taken  you  down  from  the  cross  ere  life  had 
wholly  departed ;  and  now  you  could  neither  live  nor  die, 
but  moved  about  like  one  half  dead.  I  fancy  I  can  see  your 
secret  wounds,  your  poor  heart  pierced  by  the  spear !  Oh, 
my  suffering  child,  rest  your  head  once  more  on  the  knee  of 
her  who  would  give  her  heart's  blood  for  you !  "  She  gently 
drew  his  head  down  and  placing  one  hand  under  it,  like  a 
soft  cushion,  lovingly  stroked  his  forehead  as  if  to  wipe  away 
the  blood-stains  of  the  crown  of  thorns,  while  tear  after  tear 
fell  from  her  long  lashes  on  her  son — the  son  of  a  virgin 
mother. 

Silence  reigned  around  them — there  was  a  rustling  sound 
above  their  heads  as  if  the  wind  was  blowing  through  palms 
and  cedars — a  weeping  willow  spread  its  boughs  above  them, 
and  from  the  churchyard  wall  the  miikwort  nodded  a  mute 
greeting  from  Golgotha. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE   WATCHWORD. 

WHILE  the  lost  son  of  Ammergau  was  quietly  and  sadly 
permitting  the  miracle  of  his  home  to  produce  its  effect  upon 
him,  and  rising  from  one  revelation  to  another  along  the 
steep  path  which  again  led  him  to  the  cross,  the  countess  was 
languishing  in  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of  the  capital  and 
its  relations. 

Three  days  had  passed  since  the  parting  from  Freyer,  but 
she  scarcely  knew  it  !  She  lived  behind  her  closed  curtains 
and  in  the  evenings  sat  in  the  light  of  lamps  subdued  by 
opalescent  shades,  as  if  in  a  never-  changing  white  night,  in 
which  there  could  be  neither  dusk  nor  dawn.  And  it  was 
the  same  in  her  soul.  Reason  —  cold,  joyless  reason,  with 
its  calm,  monotonous  light,  now  ruled  her,  she  had  exhausted 
all  the  forces  of  grief  in  those  farewell  hours.  For  grief,  too, 
is  a  force  which  can  be  exhausted,  and  then  the  soul  will 


390  ON   THE    CROSS. 

rest  in  indifference.  Everything  was  now  the  same  to  her. 
The  sacrifice  and  the  cost  of  the  sacrifice.  What  did  the 
world  contain  that  was  worth  trouble  and  anxiety  ?  Nothing! 
Everything  she  had  hoped  for  on  earth  had  proved  false — 
false  and  treacherous.  Life  had  kept  its  promise  to  her  in 
nothing;  there  was  no  happiness,  only  he  who  had  no  de- 
sires was  happy — a  happiness  no  better  than  death!  And 
she  had  not  even  reached  that  stage!  She  still  wanted  so 
many  things  :  honor,  power,  beauty,  and  luxury,  which  only 
wealth  procures — and  therefore  this  also. 

Now  she  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  beauty — "seeking 
in  it  the  divine  "  and  the  man  who  offered  her  his  hand  in  aid 
would  understand  how  to  obtain  for  her,  with  taste  and  care, 
the  last  thing  she  expected  from  life — pleasure!  Civilization 
had  claimed  her  again,  she  was  the  woman  of  the  century,  a 
product  of  civilization !  She  desired  nothing  more.  A  mar- 
riage of  convenience  with  a  clever,  aristocratic  man,  with  whom 
she  would  become  a  patron  of  art  and  learning;  a  life  of  amuse- 
ment and  pleasurable  occupation  she  now  regarded  as  the  nor- 
mal one,  and  the  only  one  to  be  desired. 

While  Freyer,  among  his  own  people,  was  returning  to 
primitiveness  and  simplicity,  she  was  constantly  departing 
farther  from  it,  repelled  and  terrified  by  the  phenomena  with 
which  Nature,  battling  for  her  eternal  rights,  confronted  her. 
For  Nature  is  a  tender  mother  only  to  him  who  deals  honestly 
with  her — woe  betide  him  who  would  trifle  with  her — she 
shows  him  her  terrible  earnestness. 

"  Only  despise  reason  and  learning,  the  highest  powers  of 
mankind!  "  How  often  the  Mephistopheles  within  her  soul 
had  jeeringly  cried.  Yes,  he  was  right — she  was  punished  for 
having  despised  and  misunderstood  the  value  of  the  work  of 
civilization  at  which  mankind  had  toiled  for  years.  She  would 
atone  for  it.  She  had  turned  in  a  circle,  the  wheel  had  almost 
crushed  her,  but  at  least  she  was  glad  to  have  reached  the 
same  spot  whence  she  started  ten  years  ago.  At  least  so  she 
believed! 

In  this  mood  the  duke  found  her  on  his  return  from  Prank- 
enberg. 

"Good  news,  the  danger  is  over!  The  old  pastor  was  pru- 


THE    WATCHWORD.  39! 

dent  enough  to  die  with  the  secret! "  he  cried,  radiant  with  joy, 
as  he  entered. 

"  Nothing  was  to  be  found !  There  is  nothing  in  the  church 
record!  The  Wildenaus  have  no  proof  and  can  do  nothing 
unless  Herr  Freyer  plays  us  a  trick  with  the  marriage  certifi- 
cate— " 

"That  anxiety  is  needless!"  replied  the  countess,  taking 
from  her  writing-table  the  little  package  containing  Freyer's 
farewell  note,  the  marriage  certificate,  and  the  account-book. 
"There,  read  it." 

Her  face  wore  a  strange  expression  as  she  handed  it  to 
him,  a  look  as  if  she  were  accusing  him  of  having  tempted 
her  to  murder  an  innocent  person.  She  was  pale  and  there 
was  something  hostile,  reproachful,  in  her  attitude. 

The  duke  glanced  through  the  papers.  "  This  is  strange," 
he  said  very  gravely :  "  Is  the  man  so  great — or  so  small  ?  " 

"  So  great!  "  she  murmured  under  her  breath. 

"  Hm !  I  should  not  have  expected  it  of  him.  Is  this  no 
farce  ?  Has  he  really  gone  ?  " 

"Yes!  And  here  is  something  else."  She  gave  him  the 
burgomaster's  letter :  "This  is  the  answer  I  received  to-day  to 
my  offer  to  provide  for  Freyer's  future." 

"  If  this  is  really  greatness — then — "  the  prince  drew  a  long 
breath  as  if  he  could  not  find  the  right  word :  "  Then — I  don't 
know  whether  we  have  done  right." 

The  countess  felt  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  her.  "  You 
say  that — you  ?  " 

The  duke  rose  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  "  I 
always  tell  the  truth.  If  this  man  was  capable  of  such  an  act 
— then — I  reproach  myself,  for  he  deserved  better  treatment 
than  to  be  flung  overboard  in  this  way,  and  we  have  incurred 
a  great  responsibility." 

"  Good  Heavens,  and  you  say  this  now,  when  it  is  too 
late !  "  groaned  the  unhappy  woman. 

"  Be  calm.  The  fault  is  mine — not  yours.  I  will  assume 
the  whole  responsibility — but  it  oppresses  me  the  more  heavily 
because,  ever  since  I  went  to  Prankenberg,  I  have  been 
haunted  by  the  question  whether  this  was  really  necessary  ? 
My  object  was  first  of  all  to  save  you.  In  this  respect  I  have 
nothing  for  which  to  reproach  myself.  But  I  overestimated 


392  ON   THE   CROSS. 

your  danger  and  undervalued  Freyer.  I  did  not  know  him—- 
now that  I  do  my  motive  dissolves  into  nothing." 

He  cast  another  glance  at  Freyer's  farewell  note  and  shook 
his  head :  "  It  is  hard  to  understand !  What  must  it  have 
cost  thus  at  one  blow  to  resign  everything  that  was  dear,  give 
up  without  conditions  the  papers  which  at  least  would  have 
made  him  a  rich  man — and  all  without  one  complaint,  without 
any  boastfulness,  simply,  naturally!  Madeleine,  it  is  over- 
whelming— it  is  shameful  to  us." 

The  countess  covered  her  face.  Both  remained  silent  a 
long  time. 

The  duke  still  gazed  at  the  letter.  Then,  resting  his  head 
on  his  hand  and  looking  fixedly  into  vacancy,  he  said  :  "  There 
is  a  constraining  power  about  this  man,  which  draws  us  all  into 
its  spell  and  compels  us  not  to  fall  behind  him  in  generosity. 
But — how  is  this  to  be  done  ?  He  cannot  be  reached  by  ordi- 
nary means.  I  am  beginning  now  to  understand  what  bound 
you  to  him,  and  unfortunately  I  must  admit  that,  with  the 
knowledge,  my  guilt  increases.  My  justification  lay  only  in 
the  misunderstanding  of  what  now  forces  itself  upon  me  as  an 
undeniable  fact — that  Freyer  was  not  so  unworthy  of  you, 
Madeleine,  as  I  believed!"  He  read  the  inscription  on  the  little 
bank  book :  "  To  keep  the  graves  of  my  dear  ones !  "  and  was 
silent  for  a  time  as  if  something  choked  his  utterance :  "  How 
he  must  have  suffered — !  When  I  think  how  /  love  you,  though 
you  have  never  been  mine — and  he  once  called  you  his — re- 
signed you  and  went  away,  with  death  in  his  heart!  Oh,  you 
women !  Madeleine,  how  could  you  do  this  in  cold  blood  ?  If 
it  had  been  for  love  of  me — but  that  illusion  vanished  long 
ago." 

"  Condemned — condemned  by  you ! "  moaned  the  countess 
in  terror. 

"  I  do  not  condemn  you,  Madeleine,  I  only  marvel  that  you 
could  do  it,  if  you  knew  the  man  as  he  is." 

"  I  did  not  know  him  in  this  guise,"  said  the  countess 
proudly.  "  But — I  will  not  be  less  honest  than  you,  Duke,  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  could  have  done  it,  had  I  known  him  as  I  do 
now" 

The  duke  passed  his  handkerchief  across  his  brow,  which 


THE    WATCHWORD.  393 

was  already  somewhat  bald.  "  One  thing  is  certain — we  owe 
the  man  some  reparation.  Something  must  be  done." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  He  will  refuse  anything  we  offer — 
though  it  were  myself.  That  is  evident  from  the  burgomaster's 
letter."  She  closed  her  eyes  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "  All  is 
vain — he  can  never  forgive  me." 

"  No,  he  certainly  cannot  do  that.  But  the  man  is  worthy 
of  having  us  fulfill  the  only  wish  he  has  expressed  to  you — " 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  To  defer  our  marriage  until  the  first  anguish  of  his  grief 
has  had  time  to  pass  away." 

The  countess  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  relieved  of  a  heavy 
burden  :  "  Duke,  that  is  generous  and  noble !  " 

"  If  you  had  been  legally  wedded  and  were  obliged  to  be 
legally  divorced,  we  could  not  be  united  in  less  than  a  year. 
Let  us  show  the  poor  man  the  honor  of  regarding  him  as  your 
lawfully  wedded  husband  and  pay  him  the  same  consideration 
as  if  he  were.  That  is  all  we  can  do  for  him  at  present,  and  I 
shall  make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  atone,  by  this  sacrifice,  in 
some  degree  for  the  heavy  responsibility  which  is  undeniably 
mine  and  which,  as  an  honest  man,  I  neither  can  nor  desire  to 
conceal  from  myself." 

He  went  to  her  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  see  by  your 
radiant  eyes,  Countess,  that  this  does  not  cost  you  the  sacrifice 
which  it  does  me — I  will  not  pretend  to  be  more  unselfish  than 
I  am,  for  I  hope  by  means  of  it  to  gain  in  your  esteem  what  I 
lose  in  happiness  by  this  time  of  delay ! " 

He  kissed  her  hand  with  a  sorrowful  expression  which  she 
had  never  seen  in  him  before.  "  Permit  me  to  take  leave  of 
you  for  to-day,  I  have  an  engagement  with  Prince  Hohenheim. 
To-morrow  we  will  discuss  the  matter  farther.  Bon  soir!" 

The  countess  was  alone.  An  engagement  with  Prince 
Hohenheim  !  When  had  an  engagement  with  any  one  taken 
precedence — of  her  ?  Duke  Emil  was  using  pretexts.  She 
could  not  deceive  herself,  he  was — not  really  cold,  but  chilled. 
What  a  terrible  reproach  to  her !  What  neither  time,  nor  any 
of  her  great  or  trivial  errors  had  accomplished,  what  had  not 
happened  even  when  she  preferred  a  poor  low-born  man  to  the 
rich  noble— occurred  now,  when  she  rejected  the  former — for 
the  latter. 


394  ON  THE  CROSS. 

Many  a  person  does  not  realize  the  strength  of  his  own 
moral  power,  and  how  it  will  baffle  the  most  crafty  calculation. 
Every  tragical  result  of  a  sin  is  merely  the  vengeance  of  these 
moral  forces,  which  the  criminal  had  undervalued  when  he 
planned  the  deed.  This  was  the  case  with  the  duke.  He  had 
advised  a  breach  with  Freyer — advised  it  with  the  unselfish  in- 
tention of  saving  her,  but  when  the  countess  followed  his  ad- 
vice and  he  saw  by  Freyer's  conduct  what  a  heart  she  had 
broken,  he  could  not  instantly  love  the  woman  who  had  been 
cruel  enough  to  do  an  act  which  he  could  not  pardon  himself 
for  having  counselled. 

Madeleine  Wildenau  suspected  this,  though  not  to  its  full 
extent.  The  duke  was  far  too  chivalrous  to  think  for  a  mo- 
ment of  breaking  his  plighted  troth,  or  letting  her  believe  that 
he  repented  it.  But  the  delay  which  he  proposed  as  an  atone- 
ment to  the  man  whom  they  had  injured,  said  enough.  Must  all 
abandon  her — every  bridge  on  which  she  stepped  break  ?  Had 
she  lost  by  her  act  even  the  man  of  whom  she  was  sure — surer 
than  of  anything  else  in  the  world !  How  terrible  then  this  deed 
must  have  been !  Madeleine  von  Wildenau  blushed  for  herself. 

Yet  as  there  are  certain  traits  in  feminine  nature  which  are 
the  last  a  woman  gives  up,  she  now  hated  Freyer,  hated  him 
from  a  spirit  of  contradiction  to  the  duke,  who  espoused  his 
cause.  And  as  the  feminine  nature  desires  above  all  things 
else  that  which  is  denied,  she  now  longed  to  bind  the  duke 
again  because  she  felt  the  danger  of  losing  him.  The  fugitive 
must  be  stopped — the  sport  might  perhaps  lend  her  charmless, 
wretched  life  a  certain  interest.  An  unsatisfactory  one,  it  is 
true,  for  even  if  she  won  him  again — what  then  ?  What  would 
she  have  in  him?  Could  he  be  anything  more  to  her  than  a 
pleasant  companion  who  would  restore  her  lost  power  and  po- 
sition ?  She  glanced  at  her  mirror — it  showed  her  a  woman  of 
thirty-eight,  rouged  to  seem  ten  years  younger — but  beneath 
this  rouge  were  haggard  cheeks.  She  could  not  conceal  from 
herself  that  art  would  not  suffice  much  longer — she  had  faded 
— her  life  was  drawing  toward  evening,  age  spared  no  one ! 
But — when  she  no  longer  possessed  youth  and  beauty,  when 
the  time  came  that  only  the  moral  value  of  existence  remained, 
what  would  she  have  then  ?  To  what  could  she  look  back — in 
what  find  satisfaction,  peace  ?  Society  ?  It  was  always  the 


THE    WATCHWORD.  395 

same,  with  its  good  and  evil  qualities.  To  one  who  entered 
into  an  ethical  relation  with  it,  it  contained  besides  its  apparent 
superficiality  boundless  treasures  and  resources.  "  The  snow 
is  hard  enough  to  bear  "  people  say  in  the  mountains  when,  in 
the  early  Spring,  the  loose  masses  have  melted  into  a  firm  crust. 
Thus,  under  the  various  streams,  now  cold,  now  warm,  the  sur- 
face of  society  melts  and  forms  that  smooth  icy  rind  of  form 
over  which  the  light-foot  glides  carelessly,  unconscious  that 
beneath  the  thin  surface  are  hidden  depths  in  which  the  philos- 
opher and  psychologist  find  material  enough  for  the  study  of  a 
whole  life.  But  when  everything  which  could  serve  the  pur- 
poses of  amusement  was  exhausted,  the  countess'  interest  in 
society  also  failed.  Once  before  she  had  felt  a  loathing  for  it, 
when  she  was  younger  than  now — how  would  it  be  when  she 
was  an  old  woman  ?  The  arts  ?  Already  their  spell  had  been 
broken  and  she  had  fled  to  Nature,  because  she  could  no 
longer  believe  in  their  beautiful  lies. 

The  sciences  ?  They  were  least  suited  to  afford  pleasure  ! 
Had  she  not  grown  so  weary  of  her  amateur  toying  with  their 
serious  investigations  that  she  fled,  longing  for  a  revelation,  to 
the  childish  miracles  of  Oberammergau  ?  Aye — she  was  again, 
after  the  lapse  of  ten  years,  standing  in  the  selfsame  spot, 
seeking  her  God  as  in  the  days  when  she  fancied  she  had 
found  His  footprints.  The  trace  proved  delusive,  and  must 
she  now  begin  again  where  ten  years  before  she  ended  in 
weariness  and  discontent  ?  Must  she,  who  imagined  that  she 
had  embraced  the  true  essence,  return  to  searching,  doubting  ? 
No,  the  flower  cannot  go  back  into  the  closed  bud;  the  feel- 
ing which  caused  the  disappointment  impelled  onward  to 
truth  !  Love  for  God  had  once  unfolded,  and  though  the  ob- 
ject proved  deceptive — the  feeling  was  true,  and  struggled  to 
find  its  goal  as  persistently  as  the  flower  seeks  the  sun  after  it 
has  long  vanished  behind  clouds.  But  had  she  missed  her 
way  because  she  thought  she  had  reached  the  goal  too  soon  ? 
She  had  followed  the  trace  no  longer,  but  left  it  in  anger — 
discouragement,  at  the  first  disappointment !  What  if  the  path 
which  led  her  to  Ammergau  was  the  right  one  ?  And  the 
guide  along  it  had  been  sent  by  God  ?  What  if  she  had 
turned  from  the  path  because  it  was  too  long  and  toilsome, 
rejected  the  guide  because  he  did  not  instantly  bring  God 


396  ON   THE    CROSS. 

near  to  her  impatient  heart,  and  she  must  henceforth  wander 
aimlessly  without  consolation  or  hope  ?  And  when  the  day  of 
final  settlement  came,  what  imperishable  goods  would  she 
possess  ?  When  the  hour  arrived  which  no  mortal  can  escape, 
what  could  aid  her  in  the  last  terror,  save  the  consciousness  of 
dwelling  in  the  love  of  God,  of  going  out  of  love  to  love — 
out- of  longing  to  fulfillment  ?  She  had  rejected  love,  she  had 
turned  back  in  the  path  of  longing  and  contented  herself  with 
earthly  joys — and  when  she  left  the  world  she  would  have 
nothing,  for  the  soul  which  does  not  seek,  will  not  find !  A 
life  which  has  not  fulfilled  its  moral  task  is  not  finished,  only 
broken  off,  death  to  it  is  merely  destruction,  not  completion. 

The  miserable  woman  flung  herself  down  before  the  mirror 
which  showed  her  the  transitoriness  or"  everything  earthly  and, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  looked  the  last  question  in  the 
face  and  read  no  answer  save — despair. 

"  Help  my  weakness,  oh  God  !"  she  pleaded.  "  Help  me 
upward  to  Thee.  Show  me  the  way — send  me  an  angel,  or 
write  Thy  will  on  the  border  of  the  clouds,  work  a  miracle,  oh 
Lord,  for  a  despairing  soul !"  Thus  she  awaited  the  announce- 
ment of  the  divine  will  in  flaming  characters  and  angel  tongues 
— and  did  not  notice  that  a  poor  little  banished  household  sprite 
was  standing  beside  her,  gazing  beseechingly  at  her  with  tear- 
ful eyes  because  it  had  the  word  which  would  aid  her,  the 
watchword  which  she  could  find  nowhere — only  a  simple 
phrase :  the  fulfillment  of  duty  !  Yet  because  it  was  as  simple 
and  unassuming  as  the  genius  which  brought  it,  it  remained 
unheeded  by  the  proud,  vain  woman  who,  in  her  arrogance, 
spite  of  the  humilations  she  had  endured,  imagined  that  her 
salvation  needed  a  messenger  from  Heaven  of  apocalyptic 
form  and  power. 

K 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


MEMORIES. 


AMID  conflicts  such  as  those  just  described,  the  countess 
lived,  passing  from  one  stage  of  development  to  another  and 
unconsciously  growing  older — mentally  maturing.  Several 
weeks  had  now  passed  since  her  parting  with  Freyer,  but  the 


MEMORIES.  397 

apathy  with  which,  from  that  hour,  she  had  regarded  all  ex- 
ternal things  still  remained.  She  left  the  duke  to  arrange  the 
affair  with  the  Wildenaus,  which,  a  short  time  ago,  she  had 
considered  of  sufficient  importance  to  sacrifice  Freyer.  She 
admired  the  duke's  tact  and  cleverness,  but  it  seemed  as  if  he 
were  not  acting  for  her  but  for  some  other  person. 

When  he  brought  the  news  that  the  Wildenaus,  owing  to 
the  obstinacy  of  the  witness  Martin,  had  given  up  their  plan 
of  a  legal  prosecution  on  the  ground  of  Josepha's  deposition, 
and  were  ready  for  an  amicable  settlement — she  did  not  re- 
joice over  anything  save  the  old  servant's  fidelity ;  everything 
else  she  accepted  as  a  just  recompense  of  fate  in  return  for  an 
unwarrantably  high  price  she  had  paid. 

She  was  not  annoyed  because  obliged  to  pay  those  whom 
she  had  injured  a  sum  so  large  as  considerably  to  lessen  her 
income.  She  did  not  care  for  the  result ;  her  father  was  now 
a  dying  man  and  the  vast  sums  he  had  used  were  again  at 
her  disposal.  After  all — what  did  it  matter?  If  she  married 
the  duke  in  a  year,  she  would  be  obliged  to  give  up  the  whole 
property  !  But — need  she  marry  him,  if  the  Wildenaus  could 
prove  nothing  against  her?  She  sank  into  a  dull  reverie. 
But  when  the  duke  mentioned  the  cousins'  desire  for  the  little 
hunting-castle,  life  suddenly  woke  in  her  again.  "  Never, 
never !"  she  cried,  while  a  burning  blush  crimsoned  her  face : 
"  Rather  all  my  possessions  than  that!"  A  flood  of  tears  sud- 
denly dissolved  her  unnatural  torpor. 

"  But,  dearest  Madeleine,  you  will  never  live  there  again  !" 
said  the  duke  consolingly. 

"  No — neither  I  nor  any  living  mortal  will  enter  it  again ; 
but,  Duke — must  I  say  it  ?  There  sleeps  my  child ;  there 
sleeps  the  dream  of  my  heart — it  is  the  mausoleum  of  my 
love !  No,  leave  me  that — no  stranger's  foot  must  desecrate 
it !  I  will  do  anything,  will  give  the  Wildenaus  twice,  thrice 
as  much ;  they  may  choose  any  of  my  estates — only  not  that 
one,  and  even  if  I  marry  you,  when  I  must  resign  everything, 
I  will  ask  you  to  buy  it  from  my  cousins,  and  you  will  not 
refuse  my  first  request  ?" 

The  prince  gazed  at  her  long  and  earnestly ;  for  the  first 
time  a  ray  of  the  old  love  shone  in  his  eyes.  "  Do  you  know 
that  I  have  never  seen  you  so  beautiful  as  at  this  moment  ? 


398  ON   THE   CROSS.  * 

Now  your  own  soul  looks  out  from  your  eyes !  Now  I  ab- 
solve  you  from  everything.  Forgive  me — I  was  mistaken  in 
you,  but  this  impulse  teaches  me  that  you  are  still  yourself. 
It  does  me  good !" 

"  Oh,  Duke  !  There  is  little  merit,  when  the  living  was  not 
allowed  his  rightful  place — to  secure  it  to  the  dead !" 

"  Well,  it  is  at  least  an  act  of  atonement.  Madeleine, 
there  cannot  be  more  joy  in  Heaven  over  the  sinner  who  re- 
pents than  I  felt  just  now  at  your  words.  Yes,  my  poor 
friend,  you  shall  keep  the  scene  of  your  happiness  and  your 
grief  untouched — I  will  assure  you  of  it,  and  will  arrange  it 
with  the  Wildenaus." 

"  Duke !  Oh,  you  are  the  best,  the  noblest  of  men !"  she 
exclaimed,  smiling  through  her  tears  :  "  Do  you  know  that  I 
love  you  as  I  never  did  before  ?  I  thought  it  perfectly  natural 
that  you  could  not  love  me  as  you  saw  me  during  those  days. 
I  felt  it,  though  you  did  not  intend  to  let  me  see  it." 

She  had  not  meant  to  assume  it,  but  these  words  ex- 
pressed the  charming  artlessness  which  had  formerly  rendered 
her  so  irresistible,  and  the  longer  the  duke  had  missed  it,  the 
less  he  was  armed  against  the  spell. 

"Madeleine!"  he  held  out  his  arms — and  she — did  she 
know  how  it  happened  ?  Was  it  gratitude,  the  wish  to  make 
at  least  one  person  happy  ?  She  threw  herself  on  his  breast — 
for  the  first  time  he  held  her  in  his  embrace.  Surely  she  was 
his  betrothed  bride !  But  she  had  not  thought  of  what  hap- 
pened now.  The  duke's  lips  sought  hers — she  could  not 
resist  like  a  girl  of  sixteen,  he  would  have  considered  it 
foolish  coquetry.  So  she  was  forced  to  submit. 

"  Honi  soit  qui  mal y  pense  /"  he  murmured,  kissing  her 
brow,  her  hair — and  her  lips.  But  when  she  felt  his  lips  press 
hers,  it  suddenly  seemed  as  though  some  one  was  saying  close 
beside  her :  "  You  /"  It  was  the  word  Freyer  always  uttered 
when  he  embraced  her,  as  though  he  knew  of  nothing  better 
or  higher  than  that  one  word,  in  which  he  expressed  the 
whole  strength  of  his  emotion !  "  You — you  !"  echoed  con- 
stantly in  her  ears  with  that  sweet,  wild  fervor  which  seemed 
to  threaten :  "  the  next  instant  you  will  be  consumed  in  my 
ardor."  Again  he  stood  before  her  with  his  dark  flaming  eyes 
and  the  overwhelming  earnestness  of  a  mighty  passion,  which 


MEMORIES.  399 

shadowed  his  pale  brow  as  the  approaching  thunder-storm 
clouded  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  his  mountains.  And  she 
compared  it  with  the  light,  easy  tenderness,  the  "  honi  soi  qui 
mal y  pe::se"  of  the  trained  squire  of  dames  who  was  pressing 
his  first  kiss  upon  her  lips — and  she  loathed  the  stranger. 
She  released  herself  with  a  sudden  movement,  approached  the 
window  and  looked  out.  As  she  gazed,  she  fancied  she  saw 
the  dark  figure  of  the  deserted  one,  illumined  by  the  crimson 
f^lare  of  the  forest  conflagration,  holding  out  his  hand  with  a 
divinely  royal  gesture  to  raise  and  shelter  her  on  his  breast. 
Once  more  she  beheld  him  gaze  calmly  down  at  the  charred 
timber  and  heard  him  say  smiling:  "The  wood  was  mine." 

Then — then  she  beheld  in  the  distant  East  a  sultry  room, 
shaded  by  gay  awnings,  surrounded  by  rustling  palm-trees, 
palm-trees,  which  drew  their  sustenance  from  the  soil  on  which 
the  Redeemer's  blood  once  flowed.  He  sat  beside  the  bed 
of  the  mother  of  a  new-born  child,  whispering  sweet,  earnest 
words — and  the  mother  was  she  herself,  the  babe  was  his. 

Then  she  beheld  this  same  man  kneeling  by  the  coffin  of 
a  child,  the  rigid,  death-white  face  buried  under  his  raven 
locks.  It  was  the  child  born  on  the  consecrated  soil  of  the 
burning  East,  which  she  had  left  to  pine  in  the  cold  breath  of 
the  Western  winter.  She  withdrew  from  it  the  mother-heart, 
in  which  the  tender  plant  of  the  South  might  have  gained 
warmth.  She  had  left  that  father's  child  to  die. 

Yet  he  did  not  complain ;  uttered  no  reproach — he  re- 
mained silent. 

She  saw  him  become  more  and  more  solitary  and  silent. 
The  manly  beauty  wasted,  his  strength  failed — at  last  she  saw 
him  noiselessly  cross  the  carpeted  floor  of  this  very  room  and 
close  the  door  behind  him  never  to  return !  No,  no,  it  could 
not  be — all  that  had  happened  was  false — nothing  was  true 
save  that  he  was  the  father  of  her  child,  her  husband,  and  no 
one  else  could  ever  be  that,  even  though  she  was  separated 
from  him  for  ever. 

"  Duke !"  she  cried,  imploringly.  "  Leave  me  to  myself. 
I  do  not  understand  my  own  feelings — I  feel  as  if  arraigned 
before  the  judgment  seat  of  God.  Let  me  take  counsel  with 
my  own  heart — forgive  me  I  am  a  variable,  capricious 


40O  ON   THE   CROSS. 

woman — one  mood  to-day  and  another  to-morrow ;  have  pa- 
tience with  me,  I  entreat  you." 

The  duke  looked  gravely  at  her,  and  answered,  nodding : 
"  I  understand — or  rather — I  am  afraid  to  understand !" 

"  Duke,  I  am  not  suited  to  marry.  Let  the  elderly  woman 
go  her  way  alone — I  believe  I  can  never  again  be  happy. 
I  long  only  for  rest  and  solitude." 

"  You  need  rest  and  composure.  I  will  give  you  time 
and  wait  your  decision,  which  can  now  be  absolutely  untram- 
melled, since  your  business  affairs  are  settled  and  the  peril  is 
over." 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Duke — and  do  not  misunder- 
stand me — oh  Heaven — you  might  think  that  I  had  only  given 
my  promise  in  the  dread  of  poverty  and  disgrace  and  now  that 
the  peril  was  past,  repented." 

The  duke  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he  said  in  a  low, 
firm  tone :  "  Surely  you  know  that  I  am  the  man  of  sober 
reason,  who  is  surprised  by  nothing.  '  Tout  comprendre  c'est 
tout  pardonner?  So  act  without  regard  to  me,  as  your  own 
feeling  dictates."  He  held  out  his  hand :  "  There  was  a  time 
when  I  seriously  believed  that  we  might  be  happy  together. 
That  is  now  past — you  will  destroy  no  illusion,  if  you  assert 
the  contrary." 

"  Perhaps  not  even  a  sincere  desire  of  the  heart  ?"  replied 
the  countess,  smiling. 

The  duke  became  deeply  earnest.  "  That  suggestion  is 
out  of  place  here. — Am  I  to  wound  you  from  gallantry  and  in- 
crease the  measure  of  your  self-reproaches  by  showing  you 
that  I  suffer  ?  Or  tell  a  falsehood  to  lessen  your  responsibil- 
ity ?  We  will  let  all  that  rest.  If  you  want  me,  send  for  me. 
Meanwhile,  as  your  faithful  attorney,  I  will  arrange  the  mat- 
ter of  the  hunting  castle." 

"  Duke — how  petty  I  am  in  your  presence — how  noble 
you  are!" 

"  That  is  saying  far  too  much,  Countess !  I  am  content,  if 
you  can  bear  me  witness  that  at  least  I  have  not  made  myself 
ridiculous."  He  left  the  room — cold,  courteous,  stoical  as  ever ! 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  hurried  to  the  window  and  flung 
it  open.  "  Pour  in,  light  and  air,  mighty  consolers — ah,  now 
I  breathe,  I  live  again!" 


MEMORIES.  4OI 

Once  more  she  could  freely  show  her  face,  had  no  occa- 
sion to  conceal  herself.  The  danger  of  a  "  scandal "  was  over, 
thanks  to  the  lack  of  proof.  She  need  no  longer  shun  the 
Wildenaus — old  Martin  was  faithful  and  her  husband,  the 
most  dangerous  witness,  had  gone,  disappeared.  Now  she 
had  nothing  more  to  dread ;  she  was  free,  mistress  of  her 
fortune,  mistress  of  her  will,  she  breathed  once  more  as  if 
new-born. 

Liberty,  yes,  this  was  happiness.  She  believed  that  she 
had  found  it  at  last!  And  she  would  enjoy  it.  She  need 
not  reproach  herself  for  breaking  her  troth  to  the  prince, 
he  had  told  her  so — if  thereby  she  could  appease  the  aveng- 
ing spirits  of  her  deed  to  Freyer,  they  must  have  the  sacri- 
fice !  True,  to  be  reigning  duchess  of  a  country  was  a  lofty 
position ;  but — could  she  purchase  it  at  the  cost  of  being  the 
wife  of  a  man  whom  she  did  not  love  ?  Why  not  ?  Was  she 
a  child  ? — a  foolish  girl  ?  A  crown  was  at  stake — and  should 
she  allow  sentimental  scruples  to  force  her  to  sacrifice  it  to 
the  memory  of  an  irrevocably  lost  happiness  ? 

She  shook  her  head,  as  if  she  wanted  to  shake  off  a 
bandage.  She  was  ill  from  the  long  days  spent  in  dark- 
ness and  confinement  like  a  criminal.  That  was  the  cause 
of  these  whims.  Up  and  out  into  the  open  air,  where  she 
would  again  find  healthy  blood  and  healthy  thoughts. 

She  rang  the  bell,  a  new  servant  appeared. 

"  My  arrival  can  now  be  announced.  Tell  Martin  to 
bring  the  carriage  round,  I  will  go  to  drive." 

"Very  well,  Your  Highness." 

She  seemed  to  have  escaped  from  a  ban.  She  had  never 
known  liberty.  Until  she  married  the  Count  von  Wildenau 
she  had  been  under  the  control  of  a  governess.  Then,  in 
her  marriage  with  the  self-willed  old  man  she  was  a  slave,  and 
she  had  scarcely  been  a  widow  ere  she  forged  new  fetters  for 
herself.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  could  taste  liberty. 
The  decision  was  not  pressing.  The  cool  stoic  who  had 
waited  so  long  would  not  lose  patience  at  the  last  moment 
— so  she  could  still  do  what  she  would. 

So  the  heart,  struggling  against  the  unloved  husband,  de- 
ceived the  ambitious,  calculating  reason  which  aspired  to  a 
crown. 

86 


402  ON   THE    CROSS. 

The  carriage  drove  up.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  a  pair 
of  spirited  horses  stamping  before  a  handsome  equipage,  to 
be  assisted  to  enter  by  a  liveried  servant  and  to  be  able  to 
say  :  "  This  is  yours  once  more  !"  The  only  shadow  which 
disturbed  her  was  that  on  Martin's  face,  a  shadow  resting 
there  since  she  had  last  visited  her  castle  of  the  Sleeping 
Beaut)'.  She  well  knew  for  whom  the  old  man  was  grieving. 
It  was  a  perpetual  reproach  and  she  avoided  talking  with 
him,  from  a  certain  sense  of  diffidence.  She  could  justify 
herself  to  the  keen  intelligence  of  the  duke — to  the  simplicity 
of  this  plain  man  she  could  not ;  she  felt  it. 

It  was  a  delightful  May  evening.  A  sea  of  warm  air  and 
spring  perfumes  surrounded  her,  and  crowds  thronged  the 
streets,  enjoying  the  evening,  after  their  toilsome  work,  as  if 
they  had  just  waked  from  their  winter  sleep.  On  the  corners 
groups  paused  before  huge  placards  which  they  eagerly 
studied,  one  pushing  another  away.  What  could  it  be  ? 

Then  old  Martin,  as  if  intentionally,  drove  close  to  the 
sidewalk,  where  the  people  stood  in  line  out  to  the  street  be- 
fore those  posters.  There  was  a  little  movement  in  the 
throng ;  people  turned  to  look  at  the  splendid  equipage,  thus 
leaving  the  placard  exposed.  The  countess  read  it — the 
blood  congealed  in  her  veins — there,  in  large  letters,  stood 
the  words :  "  Oberammergau  Passion  Play."  What  did  it 
mean  ?  She  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  feeling  as  if  she 
must  shriek  aloud  with  homesickness,  with  agonized  longing 
for  those  vanished  days  of  a  great  blissful  delusion  !  Again 
she  beheld  the  marvellous  play.  Again  the  divine  sufferer 
appeared  to  the  world — the  mere  name  on  that  wretched 
placard  was  already  exerting  its  spell,  for  the  pedestrians, 
pausing  on  their  errands,  stopped  before  it  by  hundreds,  as  if 
they  had  never  read  the  words  "  Passion  Play  "  before !  And 
the  man  who  helped  create  this  miracle,  to  which  a  world  was 
again  devoutly  pilgrimaging,  had  been  clasped  in  her  arms— 
had  loved  her,  been  loyally  devoted  to  her,  to  her  alone,  and 
she  had  disdained  him  !  Now  he  was  again  bringing  the  salva- 
tion of  the  divine  word  and  miracle — she  alone  was  shut  out, 
she  had  forfeited  it  by  her  own  fault.  She  was — as  in  his 
wonderful  gift  of  divination  he  had  once  said — one  of  the 
foolish  virgins  who  had  burned  her  oil,  and  now  the  heavenly 


THE   MEASURE   IS    FULL.  403 

bridegroom  was  coming,  but  she  stood  alone  in  the  darkness 
while  the  others  were  revelling  at  the  banquet. 

The  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  trampling  of  the  crowds 
about  her  were  deafening,  and  it  was  fortunate,  for,  in  the  con- 
fused uproar,  the  cry  which  escaped  the  tortured  heart  of  the 
proud  lady  in  the  coroneted  carriage  died  away  unheard.  Lilacs 
and  roses — why  do  you  send  forth  so  intoxicating  a  fragrance, 
why  do  you  still  bloom  ?  Can  you  have  the  heart  to  smile  at  a 
world  in  which  there  is  such  anguish  ?  But  lilacs,  roses,  and  a 
beautiful  May-sun  laughed  on,  the  world  was  devoutly  prepar- 
ing for  the  great  pilgrimage  to  Oberammergau.  She  only 
was  exiled,  and  returned  to  her  stone  palace,  alone,  hopeless — 
with  infinite  desolation  in  her  heart. 

A  note  from  the  duke  awaited  her.  He  took  his  leave  for 
a  few  weeks,  in  order  to  give  her  time  to  understand  her  own 
heart  clearly.  Now  she  was  utterly  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


THE    MEASURE    IS   FULL. 

FROM  that  day  the  countess  showed  an  unwonted  degree 
of  interest  in  the  newspapers.  The  first  question  when  she 
waked  in  the  morning  was  for  the  papers.  But  the  maid  no- 
ticed that  she  opened  only  the  pages  containing  the  reports 
from  Oberammergau. 

"  Your  Highness  seems  to  be  very  much  interested  in  the 
Passion  Play,"  the  woman  ventured  to  remark. 

The  countess  blushed,  and  her  "yes"  was  so  curt  and  re- 
pellent that  the  maid  was  alarmed  at  her  own  presumption. 

One  thing,  however,  was  certain — her  mistress,  after  read- 
ing these  reports,  always  looked  pale  and  worn. 

And  in  truth  the  unhappy  woman,  while  reading  the  de- 
scriptions of  this  year's  performances,  felt  as  if  she  were  drink- 
ing a  cup  of  wormwood  drop  by  drop.  Freyer*s  name  was 
echoing  throughout  the  world.  Not  only  did  the  daily  press 
occupy  itself  with  him — but  grave  men,  aesthetes  of  high 
rank,  found  his  acting  so  interesting  that  they  wrote  pamphlets 
about  it  and  made  it  the  subject  of  scientific  treatises.  The 


404  ON   THE   CROSS. 

countess  read  them  all.  Freyer  was  described  as  the  type  in 
which  art,  nature,  and  religion  joined  hands  in  the  utmost 
harmony  !  "  As  he  himself  stands  above  the  laws  of  theatri- 
cal routine,  he  raises  us  far  above  what  we  term  stage  effect, 
as  it  were  into  a  loftier  sphere.  He  does  not  act — he  is  the 
Christ !  The  power  of  his  glance,  the  spirituality  of  the  whole 
figure,  and  an  indefinable  spell  of  the  noblest  sorrow  which 
pervades  his  whole  person,  are  things  which  cannot  be  counter- 
feited, which  are  no  play,  but  truth.  We  believe  what  he  says, 
because  we  feel  that  this  man's  soul  does  not  belong  to  this 
world,  that  its  own  individual  life  has  entered  into  his  part. 
Because  he  thinks,  feels,  and  lives  not  as  Joseph  Freyer,  but 
as  the  Christus — is  the  source  of  the  impression  which  borders 
upon  the  supernatural." 

Madeleine  von  Wildenau  had  just  read  these  words,  which 
cut  her  to  the  heart.  Ah,  when  strangers — critics — men  said 
such  things — surely  she  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed.  Who 
would  reproach  her,  a  weak,  enthusiastic  woman,  for  yield- 
ing to  this  spell  ?  Surely  no  one — rather  she  would  be 
blamed  for  not  having  arrested  the  charm,  for  having,  with 
a  profane  hand,  destroyed  the  marvel  that  approached  her, 
favoring  her  above  the  thousands  who  gazed  at  it  in  devout 
reverence ! 

She  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand  and  gazed  mournfully 
out  of  the  window  at  which  she  sat.  They  had  now  been 
playing  six  weeks  in  Oberammergau.  It  was  June.  The 
gardens  of  the  opposite  palace  were  in  their  fullest  leafage ; 
and  the  birds  singing  in  the  trees  lured  her  out.  Her  eyes 
followed  a  little  swallow  flying  toward  the  mountains.  "  Oh, 
mountain  air  and  blue  gentians  —  earthly  Paradise!"  she 
sighed !  What  was  she  doing  here  in  the  hot  city  when  all 
were  flying  to  the  mountains,  she  saw  no  society,  and  the 
duke  had  gone  away.  She,  too,  ought  to  have  left  long  be- 
fore. But  where  should  she  go  ?  She  could  not  visit  Ober- 
ammergau, and  she  cared  for  no  other  spot — it  seemed  as 
though  the  whole  world  contained  no  other  place  of  abode 
than  this  one  village  with  its  gay  little  houses  and  low  win- 
dows— as  if  in  all  the  world  there  were  no  mountains,  and  no 
mountain  air  save  in  Ammergau.  A  few  burning  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  Doubtless  there  was  mountain  air,  there 


THE   MEASURE   IS    FULL.  405 

were  mountain  peaks  higher,  more  beautiful  than  in  Ammer- 
gau,  but  nowhere  else  could  be  found  the  same  capacity  for 
enjoying  the  magnificence  of  nature  !  Everywhere  there  is  a 
church,  a  religion,  but  nowhere  so  religious  an  atmosphere 
as  there. 

"  Oh,  my  lost  Paradise,  my  soul  greets  you  with  all  the 
anguish  of  the  exiled  mother  of  my  sex  and  my  sin ! "  she 
sighed. 

And  yet,  what  was  Eve's  sin  to  hers  ?  Eve  at  least 
atoned  in  love  and  faith  with  the  man  whom  she  tempted  to 
sin.  Therefore  God  could  forgive  her  and  send  to  the  race 
which  sprung  from  her  fall  a  messenger  of  reconciliation. 
Eve  was  a  wife  and  a  mother.  But  she,  what  was  she  ?  Not 
even  that!  She  had  abandoned  her  husband  and  lived  in 
splendor  and  luxury  while  he  grieved  alone.  She  had  given 
him  only  one  child,  and  even  to  that  had  acted  no  mother's 
part,  and  finally  had  thrust  him  out  into  poverty  and  sor- 
row, and  led  a  life  of  wealth  and  leisure,  while  he  earned  his 
bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  No,  the  mother  of  sin  was 
a  martyr  compared  to  her,  a  martyr  to  the  nature  which  she 
denied,  and  therefore  she  was  shut  out  from  the  bond  of 
peace  and  pity  which  Eve's  atonement  secured. 

Some  one  knocked.  The  countess  started  from  her  rev- 
erie. The  servant  announced  that  His  Highness'  nurses  had 
sent  for  her ;  they  thought  death  was  near. 

"  I  will  come  at  once!"  she  answered. 

The  prince  lived  near  the  Wildenau  Palace,  and  she 
reached  him  in  a  few  minutes. 

The  sick  man's  mind  was  clearer  than  it  had  been  for 
several  months.  The  watery  effusions  in  the  brain  which  had 
clouded  his  consciousness  had  been  temporarily  absorbed, 
and  he  could  control  his  thoughts.  For  the  first  time  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  his  daughter :  "  Are  you  there,  my 
child?" 

It  touched  her  strangely,  and  she  knelt  by  his  side. 
"  Yes,  father !  " 

He  stroked  her  hair  with  a  kindly,  though  dull  expres- 
sion :  "  Are  you  well  ?  " 

"  In  body,  yes  papa !  I  thank  you." 

"  Are  you  happy  ?" 


406  ON   THE    CROSS. 

The  countess,  who  had  never  in  her  life  perceived  any 
token  of  paternal  affection  in  his  manner,  was  deeply  moved 
by  this  first  sign  of  affection  in  the  hour  of  parting.  She 
strove  to  find  some  soothing  reply  which  would  not  be  false 
and  yet  satisfy  his  feeble  reasoning  powers ;  but  he  had  again 
forgotten  the  question. 

"  Are  you  married  ?  "  he  asked  again,  as  if  he  had  been 
absent  a  long  time,  and  saw  his  daughter  to-day  for  the  first 
time. 

The  nurses  withdrew  into  the  next  room. 

The  father  and  daughter  were  alone.  Meantime  his  mem- 
ory seemed  to  be  following  some  clue. 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"Which  one?"  asked  the  countess,  greatly  agitated. 
"Wildenau?" 

"  No,  no — the — the  other  one  ;  let  him  come  !  "  He  put 
out  his  hand  gropingly,  as  if  he  expected  some  one  to  clasp 
it :  "  Say  farewell—"  ' 

"  Father,"  sobbed  the  countess,  laying  the  seeking  hand 
gently  back  on  the  coverlet.  "  He  cannot  bid  you  fare- 
well, he  is  not  here ! " 

"Why  not?  I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  him — son-in- 
law — grandson — no  one  here  ?  " 

"  Father — poor  father !"  The  countess  could  say  no  more. 
Laying  her  head  on  the  side  of  her  father's  bed,  she  wept 
bitterly. 

"  Hm,  hm !  "  murmured  the  invalid,  and  a  glance  of  in- 
telligence suddenly  flashed  from  his  dull  eyes  at  his  daughter. 
"  My  child,  are  you  weeping?"  He  reflected  a  short  time, 
then  his  mind  seemed  to  grow  clear  again. 

"Oh,  yes.  No  one  must  know!  Foolish  weaknesses! 
Tell  him  I  sincerely  ask  his  pardon ;  he  must  forgive  me. 
Prejudiced,  old — !  I  am  very  sorry.  Can't  you  send  for 
him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  would  gladly  bring  him,  but  it  is  too  late — 
he  has  gone  away !  " 

"Ah!  then  I  shall  not  see  him  again.  I  am  near  my 
end." 

The  countess  could  not  speak,  but  pressed  her  lips  to  her 
father's  cold  hand. 


THE    MEASURE    IS    FULL.  407 

"  Don't  grieve ;  you  will  lose  nothing  in  me ;  be  happy. 
I  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  for  you — women,  gaming,  din- 
ners, what  value  are  they  all  ?  "  He  made  a  gesture  of  loath- 
ing :  "  What  are  they  now  ?  " 

A  chill  ran  through  his  veins,  and  his  breath  grew  short 
and  labored.  "I'm  curious  to  see  how  it  looks  up  there!" 
He  pondered  for  a  time.  "  If  you  knew  of  any  sensible  pas- 
tor, you  might  send  for  him ;  such  men  often  do  know  some- 
thing." 

"  Certainly,  father !  " 

The  countess  hurried  into  the  next  room  and  ordered  a 
priest  to  be  sent  for  to  give  extreme  unction. 

"  You  wish  to  confess  and  take  the  communion  too,  do 
you  not,  papa  ?  " 

"  Why  yes ;  one  doesn't  wish  to  take  the  old  rubbish  when 
starting  on  the  great  journey.  We  don't  carry  our  soiled 
linen  with  us  when  we  travel.  I  have  much  on  my  conscience, 
Magdalena — my  child — most  of  all,  sins  committed  against 
you!  Don't  bear  your  foolish  old  father  ill-will  for  it." 

"  N  o,  father,  1  swear  it  by  the  memory  of  this  hour !  " 

"And  your  husband" — he  shook  his  head — "he  is  not 
here;  it's  a  pity!" 

Then  he  said  no  more  but  lay  quietly,  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  till  the  priest  came. 

Madeleine  withdrew  during  the  confession.  What  was 
passing  in  her  mind  during  that  hour  she  herself  could  not 
understand.  She  only  knew  that  her  father's  inquiry  in  his 
dying  hour  for  his  despised,  disowned  son-in-law  was  the 
keenest  reproach  which  had  been  addressed  to  her. 

The  sacred  ceremony  was  over,  and  the  priest  had  left 
the  house. 

The  sick  man  lay  with  a  calm,  pleasant  expression  on  his 
face,  which  had  never  rested  there  before.  Madeleine  sat 
down  by  the  bed  and  took  his  hand;  he  gratefully  returned 
her  gentle  pressure. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  dear  father?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Very  comfortable,  dear  child." 

"  Have  you  made  your  peace  with  God  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  my  child!  So  far  as  He  will  be  gracious  to 
an  old  sinner  like  me."  He  raised  his  eyes  with  an  earnest, 


408  ON   THE   CROSS. 

trustful  look,  then  a  long — agonizing  death  struggle  came  on. 
But  he  held  his  daughter's  hand  firmly  in  his  own,  and  she 
spent  the  whole  night  at  his  bedside  without  stirring,  resolute 
and  faithful — the  first  fulfillment  of  duty  in  her  whole  life. 

The  struggle  continued  until  the  next  noon  ere  the  daugh- 
ter could  close  her  father's  eyes.  A  number  of  pressing  busi- 
ness matters  were  now  to  be  arranged,  which  detained  her 
in  the  house  of  mourning  until  the  evening,  and  made  her 
sorely  miss  her  thoughtful  friend,  the  duke.  At  last,  at  nine 
o'clock,  she  returned  to  her  palace,  wearied  almost  unto 
death. 

The  footman  handed  her  a  card :  "  The  gentleman  has 
been  here  twice  to-day  and  wished  to  see  Your  Highness  on 
very  urgent  business.  He  was  going  to  leave  by  the  last 
train,  but  decided  to  stay  in  order  to  see  you.  He  will  try 
again  after  nine  o'clock — " 

The  countess  carried  the  card  to  the  gas  jet  and  read : 
"  Ludwig  Gross,  drawing-teacher."  Her  hand  trembled  so 
violently  that  she  almost  dropped  it.  "  When  the  gentleman 
comes,  admit  him!"  She  was  obliged  to  cling  to  the  balus- 
trade as  she  went  upstairs,  she  was  so  giddy.  Scarcely  had 
she  reached  her  boudoir  when  she  heard  the  lower  bell  ring 
— then  footsteps,  a  familiar  voice — some  one  knocked  as  he 
had  done  ten  years  ago  in  the  Gross  House;  but  the  man 
whom  he  then  brought,  nothing  would  ever  bring  again. 

She  did  not  speak,  her  voice  failed,  but  she  opened  the 
door  herself — Ludwig  Gross  stood  before  her.  Both  gazed 
at  each  other  a  long  time  in  silence.  Both  were  struggling 
for  composure  and  for  words,  and  from  the  cheeks  of  both 
every  drop  of  blood  had  vanished.  The  countess  held  out 
her  hand,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  see  it.  She  pointed  to  a 
chair,  and  said  in  a  hollow  tone :  "  Sit  down,"  at  the  same 
time  sinking  upon  a  divan  opposite. 

"  I  will  not  disturb  you  long,  Your  Highness ! "  Ludwig 
answered,  seating  himself  a  long  distance  off. 

"If  you  disturbed  me,  I  should  not  have  received  you." 

Ludwig  felt  the  reproof  conveyed  in  the  words  for  the 
hostility  of  his  manner,  but  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Perhaps  Your  Highness  remembers  a  certain  Freyer  ?  " 

*  Herr  Gross,  that  question  is  an  insult  •  but  I  admit  that, 


THE    MEASURE    IS    FULL.  409 

from  your  standpoint,  you  have  a  right  to  ask  it.  At  any  rate, 
Freyer  did  not  commission  you  to  do  so." 

"  No,  Countess,  for  he  does  not  know  that  I  am  here ;  if 
he  did,  he  would  have  prevented  it.  I  beg  your  pardon,  if  I 
perform  my  mission  somewhat  clumsily !  I  know  it  is  un- 
seemly to  meddle  with  relations  of  which  one  is  ignorant, 
for  Freyer's  reserve  allowed  me  no  insight  into  these.  But 
here  there  is  danger  in  delay,  and  where  a  human  life  is 
at  stake,  every  other  consideration  must  be  silent.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  learn  any  particulars  from  Freyer.  I  only 
know  that  he  was  away  nine  years,  as  it  was  rumored,  with 
you,  and  that  he  returned  a  beggar ! " 

"  That,  Herr  Gross,  is  no  fault  of  mine." 

"  Not  that,  Countess,  but  it  must  be  your  fault  alone 
which  has  caused  relations  so  unnatural  that  Freyer  was 
ashamed  to  accept  from  you  even  the  well-earned  payment 
for  his  labor." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Herr  Gross." 

"  And  that  would  be  the  least,  Countess,  but  he  has  re- 
turned, not  only  a  beggar,  but  a  lost  man." 

"  Ludwig !  " 

"  Yes,  Countess.  That  is  the  reason  I  determined,  after 
consulting  with  the  burgomaster,  to  come  here  and  talk 
with  you,  if  you  will  allow  it." 

"  Speak,  for  Heaven's  sake;  what  has  befallen  him?" 

"  Freyer  is  ill,  Countess." 

"  But,  how  can  that  be?  He  is  acting  the  Christus  every 
week  and  delighting  the  world  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  just  it !  He  acts,  as  a  candle  burns  down 
while  it  shines — it  is  no  longer  the  phosphorescence  of  genius, 
it  is  a  light  which  feeds  on  his  own  life  and  consumes  it." 

"  Merciful  God ! " 

"  And  he  wishes  to  die — that  is  unmistakable — that  is  why 
it  is  so  hard  to  aid  him.  He  will  heed  no  counsel,  follow  no 
advice  of  the  physician,  do  nothing  which  might  benefit  him. 
Now  matters  have  gone  so  far  that  the  doctor  told  us  yes- 
terday he  might  fall  dead  upon  the  stage  at  any  hour — and 
we  ought  not  to  allow  him  to  go  on  playing!  But  he  cannot 
be  prevented.  He  desires  nothing  more  than  death." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  pale  lips  of  the  countess. 


410  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"A  severe  case  of  heart  disease,  Countess,  which  might  be 
arrested  for  several  years  by  means  of  careful  nursing,  perfect 
rest,  and  strengthening  food ;  but  he  has  no  means  to  obtain 
the  better  nourishment  his  condition  requires,  because  he  is 
too  proud  to  be  a  burden  on  any  one,  and  he  lacks  the  ease 
of  mind  necessary  to  relieve  his  heart.  Nursing  is  out  of  the 
question — he  occupies,  having  given  his  own  home  to  the 
poor  when  he  left  Ammergau,  as  you  know,  a  miserable, 
damp  room  in  a  wretched  tavern,  just  outside  the  village,  and 
wanders  about  the  mountains  day  and  night.  Of  course 
speedy  death  is  inevitable — hastened,  moreover,  by  the  exer- 
tions demanded  by  his  part." 

Ludwig  Gross  rose.  "  I  do  not  know  how  you  estimate 
the  value  of  a  poor  man's  life,  Countess,"  he  said  bitterly — 
"  I  have  merely  done  my  duty  by  informing  you  of  my  friend's 
condition.  The  rest  I  must  leave  to  you." 

"Great  Heaven!  What  shall  I  do!  He  rejects  everything 
I  offer.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  I  gave  him  a  fortune 
and  he  refused  it." 

Ludwig  Gross  fixed  an  annihilating  glance  upon  her.  "  If 
you  know  no  other  way  of  rendering  aid  here  save  by  money 
— I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

He  bowed  slightly  and  left  the  room  without  waiting  for 
an  answer. 

"  Ludwig ! "  she  called :  "  Hear  me  ! " 

He  had  gone — he  was  right — did  she  deserve  anything  bet- 
ter ?  No — no !  She  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  a  mo- 
ment as  if  dazed.  Her  heart  throbbed  almost  to  bursting. 
"Has  it  gone  so  far!  I  have  left  the  man  from  whose  lips  I 
drew  the  last  breath  of  life  to  starve  and  languish.  I  allowed 
the  heart  on  which  I  have  so  often  rested  to  pine  within  dark, 
gloomy  walls,  bleed  and  break  in  silent  suffering.  Murderess, 
did  you  hear  it  ?  He  is  lost,  through  your  sin !  Oh,  God, 
where  is  the  crime  which  I  have  not  committed — where  is 
there  a  more  miserable  creature  ?  I  have  murdered  the  most 
innocent,  misunderstood  the  noblest,  repulsed  the  most  faithful, 
abused  the  most  sacred,  and  for  what?"  She  sank  prostrate. 
The  measure  was  full — was  running  over. — The  angel  with  the 
cup  of  wormwood  had  overtaken  her,  as  Freyer  had  prophe 
sied  and  was  holding  to  her  lips  the  bitter  chalice  of  her  own 


THE    MEASURE    IS    FULL.  41! 

guilt,  which  she  must  drain,  drop  by  drop.  But  now  trus  guilt 
had  matured,  grown  to  its  full  size,  and  stood  before  her,  grin- 
ning at  her  with  the  jeer  of  madness. 

"Wings — oh,  God,  lend  me  wings!  While  I  am  doubting 
and  despairing  here — it  may  be  too  late — the  terrible  thing 
may  have  happened — he  may  have  died,  unreconciled,  with 
the  awful  reproach  in  his  heart !  Wings,  wings,  oh  God !" 
She  started  up  and  flew  to  the  bell  with  the  speed  of  thought. 

"  Send  for  the  head-groom  at  once !" 

Then  she  hurried  into  the  chamber,  where  the  maid  was 
arranging  her  garments  for  the  night.  "  Pack  as  quickly  as 
possible  whatever  I  shall  need  for  a  journey  of  two  or  three 
days — or  weeks — I  don't  know  myself." 

"  Evening  or  street  costumes  ?"  asked  the  maid,  startled 
by  her  mistress'  appearance. 

"  Street  dresses !" 

Meantime  the  head-groom  had  come.  She  hastened  into 
the  boudoir :  "  Have  relays  of  horses  saddled  and  sent  for- 
ward at  once — it  is  after  ten  o'clock — there  is  no  train  to 
Weilheim — but  I  must  reach  Oberammergau  to  night !  Mar- 
tin is  to  drive,  send  on  four  relays — I  will  give  you  four  hours 
start — the  men  must  be  off  within  ten  minutes — I  will  go  at 
two  o'clock — I  shall  arrive  there  at  seven." 

"Your  Excellency,  that  is  scarcely  possible" — the  man 
ventured  to  say. 

"  I  did  not  ask  whether  it  was  possible — I  told  you  that 
it  must  be  done,  if  it  kills  all  my  horses.  Quick,  rouse  the 
whole  stable — every  one  must  help.  I  shall  wait  at  the  win- 
dow until  I  see  the  men  ride  away." 

The  man  bowed  silently,  he  knew  that  opposition  was 
futile,  but  he  muttered  under  his  breath  :  "  To  ruin  six  of  her 
best  horses  in  one  night — just  for  the  sake  of  that  man  in 
Ammergau,  she  ought  to  be  put  under  guardianship." 

The  courtyard  was  instantly  astir,  men  were  shouting  and 
running  to  and  fro.  The  stable-doors  were  thrown  open,  lan- 
terns flashed  hither  and  thither,  the  trampling  and  neighing  of 
horses  were  heard,  the  noise  and  haste  seemed  as  if  the  wild 
huntsman  was  setting  off  on  his  terrible  ride  through  the  star- 
less night. 

The  countess  stood,  watch  in  hand,  at  the  lighted  win- 


41*  ON   THE   CROSS. 

dow,  and  the  figure  of  their  mistress  above  spurred  every  one 
to  the  utmost  haste.  In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  for  the 
relays  were  saddled  and  the  grooms  rode  out  of  the  court- 
yard. 

"  The  victoria  with  the  pair  of  blacks  must  be  ready  at 
two,"  the  head-groom  said  to  old  Martin.  "  You  must  keep 
a  sharp  look-out — I  don't  see  how  you  will  manage — those 
fiery  creatures  in  that  light  carriage." 

The  countess  heard  it  at  the  window,  but  she  paid  no 
heed.  If  only  she  could  fly  there  with  the  light  carriage,  the 
fiery  horses,  as  her  heart  desired.  Forward — was  her  only 
thought. 

"  Must  I  go,  too  ?  "  asked  the  maid,  pale  with  fright. 

"  No,  I  shall  need  no  one."  The  countess  now  shut  the 
windows  and  went  to  her  writing-desk,  for  there  was  much  to 
be  done  within  the  few  short  hours.  Her  father's  funeral — 
sending  the  announcements — all  these  things  must  now  be 
entrusted  to  others  and  a  representative  must  be  found  among 
the  relatives  to  fill  her  own  place.  She  assigned  as  a  pretext 
the  necessity  of  taking  a  short  journey  for  a  day  or  two, 
adding  that  she  did  not  yet  know  whether  she  could  return 
in  time  for  the  funeral  of  the  prince.  Her  pen  fairly  flew 
over  the  paper,  and  she  finally  wrote  a  brief  note  to  the  duke, 
in  which  she  told  him  nothing  except  her  father's  death. 
The  four  hours  slipped  rapidly  away,  and  as  the  clock  struck 
two  the  victoria  drove  to  the  door. 

The  countess  was  already  standing  there.  The  lamps  at 
the  entrance  shone  brightly,  but  even  brighter  was  old  Mar- 
tin's face,  as  he  curbed  {he  spirited  animals  with  a  firm  hand. 

"  To  Ammergau,  Martin !"  said  the  countess  significantly, 
as  she  entered  the  equipage. 

"Hi!  But  I'll  drive  now!"  cried  the  old  man,  joyously, 
not  suspecting  the  sorrowful  state  of  affairs,  and  off  dashed 
the  steeds  as  though  spurred  by  their  mistress'  fears — while 
guilt  and  remorse  accompanied  her  with  the  heavy  flight  of 
destiny. 


ON   THE    WAY   TO   THE    CROSS.  413 

CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   THE    CROSS. 

IT  was  Sunday.  Again  the  throngs  surged  around  the 
Passion  Theatre,  more  devout,  more  numerous  than  ever. 

Slowly,  as  if  his  feet  could  scarcely  support  him,  a  tall 
figure,  strangely  like  one  who  no  longer  belongs  to  the  num- 
ber of  the  living,  tottered  through  the  crowd  to  the  door  of 
the  dressing-room,  while  all  reverently  made  way  for  him,  yet 
every  one  perceived  that  it  must  be  the  Christus  !  Whoever 
met  his  eye  shuddered  as  if  the  incarnation  of  woe  had  passed, 
as  if  he  had  seen  the  face  of  the  god  of  sorrow. 

Eight  o'clock  had  struck,  the  cannon  had  announced  the 
commencement  of  the  play,  the  waiting  throng  pressed  in, 
crowding  each  other,  and  the  doors  were  closed. 

Outside  of  the  theatre  it  was  silent  and  empty.  The  car- 
riages had  driven  away.  The  people  who  could  get  no 
tickets  had  dispersed.  Only  the  venders  of  photographs  and 
eatables  still  sat  in  their  booths,  listening  idly  and  sleepily  to 
the  notes  of  the  music,  which  came  in  subdued  tones  through 
the  board  partition. 

Suddenly  the  ground  trembled  slightly  under  the  wheels 
of  a  carriage  driven  at  furious  speed.  A  pair  of  horses  cov- 
ered with  foam  appeared  in  the  distance — in  a  few  seconds  a 
dusty  victoria  stopped  before  the  Passion  Theatre. 

"  St,  st !"  said  one  of  the  box-tenders,  appearing  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs  and  hurrying  down  to  prevent  farther  disturb- 
ance. 

"  Can  I  get  a  ticket  ?"  asked  the  lady  in  the  carriage. 

"  I  am  very  sorry — but  unfortunately  every  seat  is  filled." 

"  Oh,  Heaven !  I  lost  an  hour— one  of  the  horses  met 
with  an  accident,  I  have  driven  all  night — I  beg  you — I  must 
get  in !" 

The  box-tender  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Unfortunately 
it  is  impossible  !"  he  said  with  an  offensively  lofty  manner. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  find  anything  which  I  desire 
impossible,  so  far  as  it  depends  upon  human  beings  to  fulfill  it," 
she  answered  haughtily.  "  I  will  pay  any  price,  no  matter 


ON   THE    CROSS. 

whether  it  is  a  thousand  marks,  more  or  less — if  you  will  get 
me  even  the  poorest  seat  within  the  walls." 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  price!"  was  the  smiling  answer. 
"  If  we  had  the  smallest  space,  we  could  have  disposed  of  it  a 
hundred  times  over  to-day." 

"  Then  take  me  on  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  use  to  speak  of  that — no  matter  who  might 
come — no  one  is  allowed  there." 

"  Then  announce  me  to  the  burgomaster — I  will  give  you 
my  card  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  no  admittance  to  the  stage 
during  the  performance.  In  the  long  intermission  at  twelve 
o'clock  you  might  be  announced,  but  not  before." 

The  countess'  heart  throbbed  faster  and  faster.  She  could 
hear  the  notes  of  the  music,  she  fancied  she  could  distin- 
guish the  different  voices,  yet  she  was  not  permitted  to  enter. 
Now  came  the  shouts  of  "  Hosanna  !" — yes,  distinctly — that 
was  the  entry  into  Jerusalem,  those  were  the  exulting  throngs 
who  attended  him.  If  she  could  only  look  through  a  chink — ! 
Now,  now  it  was  still — then  a  voice — oh !  she  would  recognize 
those  tones  among  thousands.  A  draught  of  air  bore  them 
to  her  through  the  cracks  in  the  walls.  Yes,  that  was  he ;  a 
tremor  ran  through  every  limb — he  was  speaking. 

The  world  hung  on  his  lips,  joy  was  in  every  eye,  comfort 
in  every  heart — within  was  salvation  and  she  must  stand  with- 
out and  could  not  go  to  her  own  husband.  But  he  was  not 
her  husband,  that  had  been  her  own  wish.  Now  it  was 
granted ! 

The  "  foolish  virgin  "  outside  the  door  burst  into  tears  like 
a  child. 

The  man  who  had  just  refused  her  request  so  coldly,  pitied 
her:  "  If  I  only  knew  how  to  help  you,  I  would  do  so  gladly," 
he  said  thoughtfully.  "  I'll  tell  you !  If  it  is  so  important  come 
during  the  intermission,  but  on  foot,  without  attracting  atten- 
tion, to  the  rear  entrance  of  the  stage — then  I'll  try  to  smuggle 
you  in,  even  if  it  is  only  into  the  passage  for  the  chorus!" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  thank  you!"  said  the  countess  with  the  look 
which  a  lost  soul  might  give  to  the  angel  who  opened  the 
gates  of  Paradise. 

"  T  will  be  there  punctually  at  twelve.     Don't  yo»'  *H\nk  I 


ON   THE    WAY   TO    THE    CROSS.  415 

might  speak  to  Herr  Freyer  during  the  intermission  ?"  she 
asked  timidly. 

A  smile  of  sorrowful  pity  flitted  over  the  man's  face. 
"  Oh,  he  speaks  to  no  one.  We  are  rejoiced  every  time  that 
he  is  able  to  get  through  the  performance." 

"  Alas !  is  he  so  ill  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  man  in  a  tone  very  low  as  if  he  feared 
the  very  air  might  hear,  "  very  ill." 

Then  he  went  up  the  stairs  again  to  his  post. 

"  Where  shall  we  drive  now  ?"  asked  Martin. 

The  countess  was  obliged  to  reflect  a  short  time  ere  she 
answered.  "  I  think  it  would  be  best — to  try  to  find  a  lodg- 
ing somewhere — "  she  said  hesitatingly,  still  listening  to  the 
sounds  from  the  theatre  to  learn  what  was  passing  within, 
what  scene  they  were  playing — who  was  speaking  ?  "  Drive 
slowly,  Martin — "  she  begged.  She  was  in  no  hurry  now : 
"Stop!"  she  called  as  Martin  started;  she  had  just  heard  a 
voice  that  sounded  like  his!  Martin  made  the  horses  move 
very  slowly  as  he  drove  on.  Thus,  at  the  most  tardy  pace, 
they  passed  around  the  Passion  Theatre  and  then  in  the  op- 
posite direction  toward  the  village.  At  the  exit  from  the 
square  an  official  notification  was  posted :  "  No  Monday  per- 
formances will  be  given  hereafter;  Herr  Freyer's  health  will 
not  permit  him  to  play  two  days  in  succession." 

The  countess  pressed  her  clasped  hands  upon  her  quiver- 
ing heart.  "  Bear  it — it  must  be  borne — it  is  your  own  fault, 
now  suffer!" 

A  stranger  in  a  private  carriage,  who  was  looking  for  lodg- 
ings on  the  day  everybody  else  was  going  away,  was  a  wel- 
come apparition  in  the  village.  At  every  house  to  which  she 
drove  the  occupants  who  remained  in  it  hastened  to  wel- 
come her,  but  none  of  the  rooms  pleased  her.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  thought  of  going  to  the  drawing-master's,  but  there 
also  the  quarters  were  too  low  and  narrow — and  she  could 
not  deceive  herself,  the  tie  between  her  and  Ludwig  Gross 
was  sundered — he  could  not  forgive  what  she  had  done  to 
his  friend ;  she  avoided  him  as  though  he  were  her  judge.  And 
besides — she  wanted  quiet  rooms,  where  an  invalid  could 
rest,  and  these  were  not  easy  to  find  now. 

At  last  she  discovered  them.     A  plain  house,  surrounded 


416  ON    THE    CROSS. 

by  foliage,  in  a  secluded  street,  which  had  only  two  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor,  where  they  could  live  wholly  unseen  and 
unheard.  They  were  plain  apartments,  but  the  ceilings  were 
not  too  low,  and  the  sunbeams  shone  through  the  chinks  of 
the  green  shutters  with  a  warm,  yet  subdued  light.  A  peace- 
ful, cheerful  shelter. 

She  hired  them  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  quickly  made 
an  agreement  with  the  elderly  woman  to  whom  they  be- 
longed. There  was  a  little  kitchen  also,  and  the  woman  was 
willing  to  do  the  cooking.  So  for  the  next  few  days  at  least 
she  had  a  comfortable  home,  and  now  would  to  Heaven  that 
she  might  not  occupy  it  in  despair. 

"Well,  now  Your  Highness  is  nicely  settled,"  said  old 
Martin,  when  the  housewife  opened  the  shutters,  and  he 
glanced  down  from  his  box  into  the  pretty  room :  "  I  should 
like  such  a  little  home  myself." 

The  countess  ordered  the  luggage  to  be  brought  in. 

"  Where  shall  I  put  up,  Your  Highness  ?" 

"  Go  to  the  old  post-house,  Martin !" 

"  Shan't  I  take  you  to  the  Passion  Theatre  ?" 

"  No,  you  heard  that  I  must  walk  there."  Martin  shook 
his  head — this  seemed  to  him  almost  too  humiliating  to  his 
proud  mistress.  But  he  did  not  venture  to  make  any  com- 
ment, and  drove  off,  pondering  over  his  own  thoughts. 

It  was  nine  o'clock.  Three  hours  before  the  long  inter- 
mission. What  might  not  happen  during  that  time  ?  Could 
she  wait,  would  not  anxiety  kill  her  or  rob  her  of  her  senses  ? 
But  nothing  could  be  done,  she  must  wait.  She  could  not 
hasten  the  hour  on  which  depended  life  and  death,  deliver- 
ance or  doom. — The  nocturnal  ride,  the  fright  occasioned  by 
the  fiery  horses  which  had  upset  the  carriage  and  forced  her 
to  walk  to  the  next  relay  and  thus  lose  a  precious  hour,  her 
agitation  beside  her  father's  sick  bed,  now  asserted  them- 
selves, and  she  lay  down  on  one  of  the  neat  white  beds  in 
the  room  and  used  the  time  to  rest  and  recover  her  strength 
a  little.  She  was  only  a  feeble  woman,  and  the  valiant  spirit 
which  had  so  long  created  its  own  law  and  battled  for  it, 
was  too  powerful  for  a  woman's  feeble  frame.  It  was  fortun- 
ate that  she  was  compelled  to  take  this  rest,  or  she  would 
have  succumbed.  A  restless  slumber  took  possession  of  her 


ON    THE    WAY    TO    THE    CROSS.  417 

at  intervals,  from  which  she  started  to  look  at  the  clock  and 
mournfully  convince  herself  that  not  more  than  five  minutes 
had  elapsed. 

The  old  woman  brought  in  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  she 
pressed  upon  her.  No  food  had  passed  her  lips  since  the 
day  before,  and  the  warm  drink  somewhat  revived  her. 
But  the  rapid  throbbing  of  her  heart  soon  prevented  her  re- 
maining in  bed,  and  rising,  she  busied  herself  a  little  in  un- 
packing— the  first  time  in  her  life  that  she  had  ever  per- 
formed such  work.  She  remembered  how  she  had  wept  ten 
years  ago  in  the  Gross  house,  because  she  was  left  without  a 
maid. 

At  last  the  time  of  torture  was  over.  The  clock  struck 
quarter  to  twelve.  She  put  on  her  hat,  though  it  was  still 
far  too  early,  but  she  could  not  bear  to  stay  in  the  room. 
She  wished  at  least  to  be  near  the  theatre.  When  she 
reached  the  door  her  breath  failed,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
stop  and  calm  herself.  Then,  summoning  all  her  courage, 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  murmuring :  "  In  God's 
name,"  went  to  meet  the  terrible  uncertainty. 

Now  she  repented  that  she  did  not  use  the  carriage — she 
could  scarcely  move.  It  seemed  at  every  step  as  if  she  were 
sinking  into  the  earth  instead  of  advancing,  as  if  she  should 
never  reach  the  goal,  as  if  the  road  stretched  longer  and 
longer  before  her.  A  burning  noonday  sun  blazed  down 
upon  her  head,  the  perspiration  stood  on  her  forehead  and 
her  lips  were  parched,  her  feet  were  swollen  and  lame  from 
the  night-watch  at  her  father's  bedside  and  the  exhausting 
journey  which  had  followed  it.  At  last,  with  much  effort, 
she  reached  the  theatre.  The  first  part  of  the  performance 
was  just  over — throngs  of  people  were  pouring  out  of  the 
sultry  atmosphere  into  the  open  air  and  hurrying  to  get  their 
dinners.  But  every  face  wore  a  look  of  the  deepest  emotion 
and  sorrow — on  every  lip  was  the  one  word :  "  Freyer !" 
The  countess  stole  through  the  throngs  like  a  criminal,  hold- 
ing her  sunshade  lower  and  drawing  her  veil  more  closely 
over  her  face.  Only  let  her  escape  recognition  now,  avoid 
meeting  any  one  who  would  speak  to  her — -this  was  her  mortal 
dread.  If  she  could  only  render  herself  invisible !  With  the 
utmost  exertion  she  forced  her  way  through,  and  now  she 

27 


41 8  ON   THE    CROSS. 

could  at  least  take  breath  after  the  stifling  pressure.  But 
everything  around  her  was  now  so  bare,  she  was  so  exposed  as 
she  crossed  the  broad  open  space — she  felt  as  though  she 
were  the  target  for  every  curious  eye  among  the  spectators. 
She  clenched  her  teeth  in  her  embarrassment — it  was  fairly 
running  the  gauntlet.  She  could  no  longer  think  or  feel  any- 
thing except  a  desire  that  the  earth  would  swallow  her.  At 
last,  tottering,  trembling,  almost  overcome  by  heat  and  haste, 
she  reached  the  welcome  shade  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
theatre  and  stopped,  this  was  her  goal.  Leaning  against  the 
wall,  she  half  concealed  herself  behind  a  post  at  the  door. 
Women  carrying  baskets  passed  her;  they  were  admitted  be- 
cause they  were  bringing  their  husbands'  food.  They  glanced 
curiously  at  the  dusty  stranger  leaning  wearily  behind  the 
door.  "  Who  can  she  be  ?  Somebody  who  isn't  quite  right, 
that's  certain  !"  The  tortured  woman  read  this  query  on  every 
face.  Here,  too,  she  was  in  a  pillory.  Oh,  power  and  rank 
— before  the  wooden  fence  surrounding  the  great  drama  of 
Christian  thought,  you  crumble  and  are  nothing  save  what 
you  are  in  and  through  love  ! 

The  Countess  Wildenau  waited  humbly  at  the  door  of  the 
Passion  Theatre  until  the  compassionate  box-opener  should 
come  to  admit  her. 

How  long  she  stood  there  she  did  not  know.  Burning 
drops  fell  from  brow  and  eyes,  but  she  endured  it  like  a  suf- 
fering penitent.  This  was  her  way  to  the  cross. 

The  clock  struck  one.  The  flood  was  surging  back  from 
the  village:  "  Oh,  God,  save  me!  "she  prayed,  trembling; 
her  agony  had  reached  its  height.  But  now  the  man  could 
not  come  until  everyone  was  seated. 

And  Freyer,  what  was  he  doing  in  his  dressing-room, 
which  she  knew  he  never  left  during  an  intermission  ?  Was 
he  resting  or  eating  some  strengthening  food  ?  Probably  one 
of  the  women  who  passed  had  taken  him  something  ?  She 
envied  the  poor  women  with  their  baskets  because  they  were 
permitted  to  do  their  duty. 

Then — she  scarcely  dared  to  believe  it — the  box-opener 
came  running  out.  ' 

"  I've  kept  you  waiting  a  long  time,  haven't  I  ?  But  every 
one  has  had  his  hands  full.  Now  come  quick !  " 


ON    THE    WAY    TO    THE    CROSS.  419 

He  slipped  stealthily  forward,  beckoning  to  her  to  follow, 
and  led  her  through  by-ways  and  dark  corners,  often  conceal- 
ing her  with  his  own  person  when  anyone  approached.  The 
signal  for  raising  the  curtain  was  given  just  as  they  reached 
a  hidden  corner  in  the  proscenium,  where  the  chorus  entered. 
"  Sit  down  there  on  the  stool,"  he  whispered.  "  You  can't 
see  much,  it  is  true,  but  you  can  hear  everything.  It's  not 
a  good  place,  yet  it's  better  than  nothing." 

"  Certainly!"  replied  the  countess,  breathlessly;  she  could 
not  see,  coming  from  the  bright  sunshine  into  the  dusky 
space;  she  sank  half  fainting  on  the  stool  to  which  he  pointed; 
she  was  on  the  stage  of  the  Passion,  near  Freyer!  True,  she 
said  to  herself,  that  he  must  not  be  permitted  to  suspect  it, 
lest  he  should  be  unable  to  finish  his  task ;  but  at  least  she 
was  near  him — her  fate  was  approaching  its  fulfillment. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  priceless  service ;  I  thank  you." 
She  pressed  a  bank  note  into  the  man's  hand. 

"  No,  no ;  I  did  it  gladly,"  he  answered,  noiselessly  re- 
treating. 

The  exhausted  woman  closed  her  eyes  and  rested  a  few 
minutes  from  the  torture  she  had  endured.  The  chorus  en- 
tered, and  opened  the  drama  again,  a  tableau  followed,  then 
the  High  Priest  and  Annas  appeared  in  the  balcony  of  his 
house,  Judas  soon  entered,  but  everything  passed  before  her 
like  a  dream.  She  could  not  see  what  was  occurring  on  her 
side  of  the  stage. 

Thus  lost  in  thought,  she  leaned  back  in  her  dark  corner, 
forgetting  the  present  in  what  the  next  hours  would  bring, 
failing  to  hear  even  the  hosannas.  But  now  a  voice  startled 
her  from  her  torpor. — "  I  spake  openly  to  the  world ;  I  ever 
taught  in  the  synagogue  and  in  the  temple — " 

Merciful  Heaven,  it  was  he !  She  could  not  see  him, 
the  side  scenes  concealed  him;  but  what  a  feeling  !  His  voice, 
which  had  so  often  spoken  to  her  words  of  love,  entreaty, 
warning,  lastly  of  wrath  and  despair — without  heed  from  her, 
without  waking  an  echo  in  her  cold  heart,  now  pealed  like  an 
angel's  message  into  the  dark  corner  where  she  sat  concealed 
like  a  lost  soul  that  had  forfeited  the  sight  of  the  Redeemer ! 
She  listened  eagerly  to  the  marvellous  tones  of  the  words  no 
longer  addressed  to  her  while  the  speaker's  face  remained 


42Q  ON    THE    CROSS. 

concealed — the  face  on  which,  in  mortal  dread,  she  might 
have  read  the  runes  engraved  by  pain,  and  learned  whether 
they  meant  life  or  death  ?  And  yet,  at  least  she  was  near 
him ;  so  near  that  she  thought  he  must  hear  the  throbbing 
of  her  own  heart. 

"  Bear  patiently ;  do  not  disturb  him  in  his  sacred  fulfill- 
ment of  duty.  It  will  soon  be  over ! " 

The  play  seemed  endlessly  long  to  her  impatient  heart. 
Christ  was  dragged  from  trial  to  trial.  The  mockery,  the 
scourging,  the  condemnation — the  tortured  woman  shared 
them  all  with  him  as  she  had  done  the  first  time,  but  to-day 
it  was  like  a  blind  person.  She  had  not  yet  succeeded  in 
seeing  him,  he  always  stood  so  that  she  could  never  catch  a 
glimpse  of  his  face.  Would  he  hold  out?  She  fancied  that 
his  voice  grew  weaker  hour  by  hour.  And  she  dared  not 
tend  him,  dared  not  offer  him  any  strengthening  drink,  dared 
not  wipe  the  moisture  from  his  brow.  She  heard  the  audi- 
ence weeping  and  sobbing — the  scene  of  bearing  the  cross 
was  at  hand ! 

The  sky  had  darkened,  and  heavy  sultry  clouds  hung  low, 
forming  natural  soffits  to  the  open  front  stage,  as  if  Heaven 
desired  to  conceal  it  from  the  curious  gods,  that  they  might 
not  see  what  was  passing  to-day. 

Mary  and  John — the  women  of  Jerusalem  and  Simon  of 
Cyrene  assembled,  waiting  in  anxious  suspense  for  the  com- 
ing of  the  Christ.  Anastasia  was  again  personating  Mary, 
the  countess  instantly  recognized  her  pure,  clear  tones,  and 
the  meeting  in  the  fields  ten  years  before  came  back  to  her 
mind — not  without  a  throb  of  jealous  emotion.  Now  a  move- 
ment among  the  audience  announced  the  approach  of  the 
procession — of  the  cross !  This  time  the  actors  came  from 
the  opposite  direction  and  upon  the  front  stage.  Every  vein 
in  her  body  was  throbbing,  her  brain  whirled,  she  struggled 
to  maintain  her  composure;  at  last  she  was  to  see  him  for 
the  first  time ! 

"  It  is  he,  oh  God  ! — it  is  my  son  !  "  cried  Mary.  Christ 
stepped  upon  the  stage,  laden  with  the  cross.  It  was  acting 
no  longer,  it  was  reality. 

His  feet  could  scarcely  support  him  under  the  burden, 
panting  for  breath,  he  dragged  himself  to  the  proscenium. 


ON   THE    WAY    TO    THE    CROSS.  421 

The  countess  uttered  a  low  cry  of  alarm ;  she  fancied  that 
she  was  looking  into  the  eyes  of  a  dying  man,  so  ghastly  was 
his  appearance.  But  he  had  heard  the  exclamation  and, 
raising  his  head,  looked  at  her,  his  emaciated  face  quivered 
— he  tottered,  fell — he  was  obliged  to  fall ;  it  was  in  his  part. 

The  countess  shuddered — it  was  too  natural ! 

"  He  can  go  no  farther,"  said  the  executioner.  "  Here, 
strengthen  yourself."  The  captain  handed  him  the  flask,  but 
he  did  not  take  it.  "  You  won't  drink  ?  Then  drive  him  for- 
ward " 

The  executioners  shook  him  roughly,  but  Freyer  did  not 
stir — he  ought  not  to  move  yet. 

Simon  of  Cyrene  took  the  cross  on  his  shoulders,  and  now 
the  Christ  should  have  risen,  but  he  still  lay  prostrate.  The 
cue  was  given — repeated — a  pause  followed — a  few  of  the 
calmer  ones  began  to  improvise,  the  man  who  was  personat- 
ing the  executioner  stooped  and  shook  him,  another  tried  to 
raise  him — in  vain.  An  uneasy  movement  ran  through  the 
audience — the  actors  gathered  around  and  gazed  at  him. 
"  He  is  dead  !  It  has  come  upon  us !"  ran  in  accents  of  hor- 
ror from  lip  to  lip. 

An  indescribable  confusion  followed.  The  audience  rose 
tumultuously  from  the  seats.  Caiaphas,  the  burgomaster,  or- 
dered in  a  low  tone:  "To  the  central  stage — every  one! 
Quick — and  then  drop  the  curtain !"  But  no  one  heard  him : 
He  bent  over  the  senseless  figure.  "  It  is  only  an  attack  of 
faintness,"  he  called  to  the  audience,  but  the  excitement  could 
no  longer  be  allayed — all  were  pressing  across  the  orchestra 
to  the  stage. 

The  countess  could  bear  it  no  longer — rank  and  station, 
the  thousands  of  curious  eyes  to  which  she  would  expose  her- 
self were  all  forgotten — there  is  a  cosmopolitanism  which 
unites  mortals  in  a  common  brotherhood  more  closely  than 
anything  else — a  mutual  sorrow. 

"  Freyer,  Freyer !"  she  shrieked  in  tones  that  thrilled 
every  nerve  of  the  bystanders :  "  Do  not  die — oh,  do  not 
die !"  Rushing  upon  the  stage,  she  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  the  unconscious  form. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen — I  must  beg  you  to  clear  the 
stage  " — shouted  Caiaphas  to  the  throng,  and  turning  to  the 


422  ON   THE    CROSS. 

countess,  whom  he  recognized,  added :  "  Countess  Wildenau 
— I  can  permit  no  stranger  to  enter,  I  must  beg  you  to  with- 
draw." 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  composed  and 
lofty — an  indescribable  dignity  pervaded  her  whole  bearing: 
"  I  have  a  right  to  be  here — I  am  his  wife  !" 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 


STATIONS    OF    SORROW. 

"  I  AM  his  wife !"  Heaven  and  earth  have  heard  it.  She 
had  conquered.  The  tremendous  deed,  fear  of  which  had  led 
her  to  the  verge  of  crime — love  had  now  done  in  a  sing/e  mo- 
ment without  conflict  or  delay.  There  was  joy  in  heaven  and 
on  earth  over  the  penitent  sinner !  And  all  the  viewless  powers 
which  watch  the  way  to  the  cross,  wherever  any  human  being 
treads  it ;  all  the  angels,  the  guardian  spirits  of  the  now  inter- 
rupted Play  hastened  to  aid  the  new  Magdalene,  that  she 
might  climb  the  Mount  of  Calvary  to  the  Hill  of  Golgotha. 
And  as  if  the  heavenly  hosts  were  rushing  down  to  accompany 
this  bearer  of  the  cross  a  gust  of  wind  suddenly  swept  through 
the  open  space  across  the  stage  and  over  the  audience,  and  the 
palms  rustled  in  the  breeze,  the  palaces  of  Jerusalem  tottered, 
and  the  painted  curtains  swayed  in  the  air.  This  one  gust  of 
wind  had  rent  the  threatening  clouds  so  that  the  sun  sent 
down  a  slanting  brilliant  ray  like  the  dawn  of  light  when  chaos 
began  to  disappear ! 

A  light  rain  which,  in  the  golden  streaks,  glittered  like 
dusty  pearls  fell,  settling  the  dust  and  dispelling  the  sultri- 
ness of  the  parched  earth. 

Silence  had  fallen  upon  the  people  on  the  stage  and  in 
the  audience,  and  as  a  scorched  flower  thirstily  expands  to 
the  cooling  dew,  the  sick  man's  lips  parted  and  eagerly  in- 
haled the  damp,  refreshing  air. 

"  Oh — he  lives  !"  said  the  countess  in  a  tone  as  sweet  as 
any  mother  ever  murmured  at  the  bedside  of  a  child  whom 
she  had  believed  dead,  any  bride  on  the  breast  of  her  wounded 
lover. 


•/  have  a  right  to  be  here — 
/  am  his  wife!" 


STATIONS    OF    SORROW.  423 

"  He  lives,  oh,  he  lives !"  all  the  spectators  repeated. 

Meanwhile  the  physician  had  come  and  examined  the 
sufferer,  who  had  been  placed  on  a  couch  formed  of  cloaks 
and  shawls  :  "  It  is  a  severe  attack  of  heart  disease.  The 
patient  must  be  taken  to  better  lodgings  than  he  has  hitherto 
occupied.  This  condition  needs  the  most  careful  nursing 
to  avoid  the  danger.  I  have  repeatedly  called  attention  to 
it,  but  always  in  vain." 

"  It  will  be  different  now,  Doctor!"  said  the  countess.  "  I 
have  already  secured  rooms,  and  beg  to  be  allowed  to  move 
him  there." 

"  The  Countess  !"  she  suddenly  heard  a  voice  exclaim  be- 
hind her — and  when  she  glanced  around,  Ludwig  Gross  stood 
before  her  in  speechless  amazement. 

"  Can  it  be  ?  I  have  just  arrived  by  the  train  from  Munich 
— but  I  did  not  see — " 

"  I  suppose  so — I  drove  here  last  night.  But  do  not  call 
me  Countess  any  longer,  Herr  Gross — my  name  is  Magdalena 
Freyer."  The  drawing-master  made  no  reply,  but  knelt  be- 
side the  sick  man,  who  was  beginning  to  breathe  faintly  and 
bent  over  him  a  long  time:  "If  only  it  is  not  too  late!"  he 
muttered  bitterly,  still  unappeased. 

The  burgomaster  approached  the  countess  and  held  out 
his  hand,  gazing  into  her  eyes  with  deep  emotion.  "  Such 
an  act  can  never  be  too  late.  Even  if  it  can  no  longer 
benefit  the  individual,  it  is  still  a  contribution  to  the  moral 
treasure  of  the  world,"  he  said  consolingly. 

"  I  thank  you.  You  are  very  kind  !"  she  answered,  tears 
springing  to  her  eyes. 

A  litter  had  now  been  obtained  and  the  physician  ordered 
the  sufferer  to  be  lifted  gently  and  laid  upon  it :  "  We  will 
first  take  him  to  the  dressing-room,  and  give  him  some  food 
before  carrying  him  home." 

The  countess  had  trsentioned  the  street :  "  It  is  some  little 
distance  to  the  house." 

The  command  was  obeyed  and  the  litter  was  carried  to 
the  dressing-room.  The  friends  followed  with  the  countess. 
On  the  way  a  woman  timidly  joined  her  and  gazed  at  her 
with  large,  sparkling  eyes :.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  re- 


424  ON    THE    CROSS. 

member  me  ?    I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that 
you  are  here  ?    Oh,  how  well  he  has  deserved  it !" 

"  Mary !"  said  the  countess,  shamed  and  overpowered  by 
the  charm  of  this  most  unselfish  soul,  clasping  both  her 
hands :  "  Mary — Mother  of  God  !"  And  her  head  sank  on  her 
companion's  virgin  breast.  Anastasia  passed  her  arm  affection- 
ately around  her  and  supported  her  as  they  moved  on. 

"  Yes,  we  two  must  hold  together,  like  Mary  and  Mag- 
dalene !  We  will  aid  each  other — it  is  very  hard,  but  our 
two  saints  had  no  easier  lot  And  if  I  can  help  in  any  way — 
They  had  reached  the  dressing-room,  the  group  paused,  the 
countess  pressed  Anastasia's  hand :  "  Yes,  we  will  hold  to- 
gether, Mary !"  Then  she  hastened  to  her  husband's  side — 
but  the  doctor  motioned  to  her  to  keep  at  a  distance  that 
the  sudden  sight  of  her  might  not  harm  the  sick  man  when 
he  recovered  his  consciousness.  He  felt  his  pulse:  "Scarcely 
fifty  beats — I  must  give  an  injection  of  ether." 

He  drew  the  little  apparatus  from  his  pocket,  thrust  the 
needle  into  Freyer's  arm  and  injected  a  little  of  the  stimulat- 
ing fluid.  The  bystanders  awaited  the  result  in  breathless 
suspense:  "  Bring  wine,  eggs,  bouillon,  anything  you  can  get 
— only  something  strong,  which  will  increase  the  action  of  the 
heart." 

The  drawing-master  hurried  off.  The  pastor,  who  had 
just  heard  of  the  occurrence,  now  entered :  "  Is  the  sacra- 
ment to  be  administered  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  there  is  no  fear  of  so  speedy  an  end,"  the  physician 
answered.  "  Rest  is  the  most  imperative  necessity."  The 
burgomaster  led  the  pastor  to  the  countess :  "  This  is  Herr 
Freyer's  wife,  who  has  just  publicly  acknowledged  her  mar- 
riage," he  said  in  a  low  tone :  "  Countess  Wildenau  !" 

"Ah,  ah — these  are  certainly  remarkable  events.  Well, 
I  can  only  hope  that  God  will  reward  such  love,"  the  priest 
replied  with  delicate  tact :  "  You  have  made  a  great  sacri- 
fice, Countess." 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew — "  she  paused.  "  Hark — he  is  recov- 
ering his  consciousness !"  She  clasped  her  hands  and  bent 
forward  to  listen — "  may  God  help  us  now." 

"  How  do  you  feel,  Herr  Freyer  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"Tolerably  well,  Doctor!    Are  you  weeping,  Mary?    Did 


STATIONS   OF   SORROW.  425 

t 

I  frighten  you  ?"  He  beckoned  to  her  and  she  hastened  to 
his  side. 

The  countess'  eyes  grew  dim  as  he  whispered  something 
to  Anastasia. 

This  was  the  torture  of  the  damned — Mary  might  be  near 
him,  his  first  glance,  his  first  words  were  hers,  while  she,  his 
wife,  stood  banished,  at  a  distance !  And  she  had  made  him 
suffer  this  torture  for  years — without  compassion.  "  Oh, 
God,  Thou  art  just,  and  Thy  scales  weigh  exactly  !"  But  the 
all- wise  Father  does  not  only  punish — He  also  shows  mercy. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  Anastasia  repeated  his  words  in  a  clear, 
joyous  tone :  "  You  thought  you  saw  her  in  the  passage 
through  which  the  chorus  passed.  Oh,  you  must  have  been 
mistaken  !"  she  added  at  a  sign  from  the  physician. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  how  could  she  be  there — it  is  impos- 
sible." 

The  countess  tried  to  move  forward,  but  the  physician 
authoritatively  stopped  her. 

The  burgomaster  gently  approached  him.  "  My  dear 
Freyer — what  could  I  do  for  you,  have  you  no  wish  ?" 

"  Nothing  except  to  die !  I  would  willingly  have  played 
until  the  end  of  the  performances — for  your  sake — but  I  am 
content." 

The  drawing-master  brought  in  the  food  which  the  physi- 
cian had  ordered. 

The  latter  went  to  him  with  a  glass  of  champagne . 
"  Drink  this,  Herr  Freyer ;  it  will  do  you  good,  and  then 
you  can  eat  something." 

But  the  sick  man  did  not  touch  the  glass :  "  Oh,  no,  I  will 
take  nothing  more." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  must  eat  something,  or  you  will  not  re- 
cover." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Certainly  you  can." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  not." 

"  Freyer,"  cried  Ludwig  beseechingly,  "  don't  be  obstinate 
— what  fancy  have  you  taken  into  your  head?"  And  he 
again  vainly  offered  the  strengthening  draught, 

"  Shall  I  live  if  I  drink  it  ?"  asked  Freyer. 

"  Certainly." 


426  ON   THE   CROSS. 

"Then  I  will  not  take  it." 

"  Not  even  if  I  entreat  you,  Freyer  ?"  asked  the  burgo- 
master. 

"  Oh,  do  not  torture  me — do  not  force  me  to  live  longer!" 
pleaded  Freyer  with  a  heart-rending  expression.  "  Jf  you 
knew  what  1  have  suffered — you  would  not  grudge  the  release 
which  God  now  sends  me !  I  have  vowed  to  be  faithful  to  my 
duty  until  death — did  I  not,  sexton,  on  Daisenberger's  grave  ? 
I  have  held  out  as  long  as  I  could — now  let  me  die  quietly." 

"  Oh,  my  friend !"  said  the  sexton,  "  must  we  lose  you  ?" 
The  strong  man  was  weeping  like  a  child.  "  Live  for  us,  if 
not  for  yourself." 

"  No,  sexton,  if  God  calls  me,  I  must  not  linger — for  I 
have  still  another  duty.  I  have  lived  for  you — I  must  die  for 
another." 

"  But,  Herr  Freyer !"  said  the  pastor  kindly,  "  suppose 
that  this  other  person  should  not  be  benefitted  by  your 
death  ?" 

Freyer  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  him. 

"  If  this  other  of  whom  you  speak — had  come — to  nurse 
and  stay  with  you  ?"  the  pastor  continued. 

Freyer  raised  himself  a  little — a  blissful  presentiment  flitted 
over  his  face  like  the  coming  of  dawn. 

"  Suppose  that  your  eyes  did  not  deceive  you  ?"  the  burgo- 
master now  added  gently. 

"  Am  I  not  dreaming — was  it  true — was  it  possible  ?" 

"  If  you  don't  excite  yourself  and  will  keep  perfectly 
calm,"  said  the  physician,  "  I  will  bring — your  wife  !" 

"  My  —  wife  ?  You  are  driving  me  mad.  I  have  no 
wife." 

"  No  wife — you  have  no  wife  ?"  cried  a  voice  as  if  from 
the  depths  of  an  ocean  of  love  and  anguish,  as  the  unhappy 
woman  who  had  forced  her  own  husband  to  disown  her,  sank 
sobbing  before  him. 

A  cry — "my  dove!"  and  his  head  drooped  on  her  breast. 

A  breathless  silence  pervaded  the  room.  Every  one's 
hands  were  clasped  in  silent  prayer.  No  one  knew  whether 
the  moment  was  fraught  with  life  or  death. 

But  it  was  to  bring  life — for  the  Christus  must  not  die  on 
the  way  to  the  cross,  and  Mary  Magdalene  must  still  climb 


STATIONS    OF    SORROW.  427 

to  its  foot — the  last,  steepest  portion — that  her  destiny  might 
be  fulfilled. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  whispering  together.  The 
others  modestly  drew  back. 

"  And  you  wish  to  die  ?  It  was  not  enough  that  you  van- 
ished from  my  life  like  a  shadow — you  wish  to  go  out  of  the 
world  also  ?"  she  sobbed.  "  Do  you  believe  that  I  could  then 
find  rest  on  earth  or  in  Heaven  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  one,  I  am  happy.  Let  me  die — I  have  prayed 
for  it  always  !  God  has  mercifully  granted  it.  When  I  am  out 
of  the  world  you  will  be  a  widow,  and  can  marry  another  with- 
out committing  a  sin." 

"  Oh,  Heaven — Joseph  !  I  will  marry  no  other — I  love  no 
one  save  you." 

He  smiled  mournfully :  "  You  love  me  now  because  I  am 
dying — had  I  lived,  you  would  have  gone  onward  in  the  path 
of  sin — and  been  lost.  No,  my  child,  I  must  die,  that  you 
may  learn,  by  my  little  sacrifice,  to  understand  the  great  atone- 
ment of  Christ.  I  must  sacrifice  myself  for  you,  as  Christ  sacri- 
ficed himself  for  the  sins  of  mankind." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  needed.  God  has  taken  the  will  for  the 
deed,  and  given  it  the  same  power.  Your  lofty,  patient  suffer- 
ing has  conquered  me.  You  need  not  die.  I  mistook  you 
for  what  you  were  not — a  God,  and  did  not  perceive  what  you 
were.  Now  I  do  know  it.  Forgive  my  folly.  To  save  me 
you  need  be  nothing  save  a  man — a  genuine,  noble,  lovable 
man,  as  you  are — then  no  God  will  be  required." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  ?"  Freyer  looked  at  her  with  a  di- 
vine expression :  "  Do  you  believe  you  could  be  content 
with  a  mortal  man  ?  No,  my  child,  the  same  disappointment 
would  follow  as  before.  The  flame  that  blazes  within  your 
soul  does  not  feed  upon  earthly  matter.  You  need  a  God,  and 
your  great  heart  will  not  rest  until  you  have  found  Him. 
Therefore  be  comforted  :  The  false  Christ  will  vanish  and  the 
true  one  will  rise  from  His  grave." 

"  No,  do  not  wrong  me  so,  do  not  die,  let  me  not  atone  for 
my  sin  to  the  dead,  but  to  the  living !  Oh,  do  not  be  cruel — 
do  not  punish  me  so  harshly.  You  are  silent !  You  are  grow- 
ing paler  still !  Ah,  you  will  go  and  leave  me  standing  alone 
half  way  along  the  road,  unable  either  to  move  forward  or 


428  ON   THE    CROSS.    ' 

back !  Joseph,  I  have  broken  every  bond  with  the  duke,  have 
cast  aside  everything  which  separated  us — have  become  a 
poor,  helpless  woman,  and  you  will  abandon  me — now,  when 
I  have  given  you  my  whole  existence,  when  I  am  nothing  but 
your  wife." 

Freyer  raised  himself. 

"  Give  me  the  wine — now  I  long  to  live."  A  universal 
movement  of  delight  ran  through  the  group  of  friends,  and  the 
countess  held  the  foaming  cup  to  his  lips  and  supported  his 
head  with  one  hand,  that  he  might  drink.  Then  she  gave 
him  a  little  food  and  arranged  him  in  a  more  comfortable 
position.  "  Come,  let  your  wife  nurse  you  !"  she  said  so  ten- 
derly that  all  the  listeners  were  touched.  Then  she  laid  a 
cooling  bandage  on  his  brow.  "Ah,  that  does  me  good!"  he 
said,  but  his  eyes  rested  steadily  on  hers  and  he  seemed  to  be 
alluding  to  something  other  than  the  external  remedies,  though 
these  quickly  produced  their  effect.  His  breathing  gradually 
became  more  regular,  his  eyes  closed,  weakness  asserted  itself, 
but  he  slept  soundly  and  quietly. 

The  physician  withdrew  to  soothe  the  strangers  waiting 
outside  by  an  encouraging  report.  Only  Freyer's  friends  and 
the  pastor  remained.  The  countess  rose  from  beside  the 
sleeper's  couch  and  stretched  her  arms  towards  Heaven: 
"  Lend  him  to  me,  Merciful  God !  I  have  forfeited  my  right  to 
him — I  say  it  in  the  presence  of  all  these  witnesses — but  be 
merciful  and  lend  him  to  me  long  enough  for  me  to  atone  for 
my  sin — that  I  may  not  be  doomed  to  the  torture  of  eternal 
remorse ! "  She  spoke  in  a  low  tone  in  order  not  to  rouse  the 
slumberer,  but  in  a  voice  which  could  be  distinctly  heard  by 
the  others.  Her  hands  were  clasped  convulsively,  her  eyes 
were  raised  as  if  to  pierce  to  the  presence  of  God — her  noble 
bearing  expressed  the  energy  of  despair,  striving  with  eternity 
for  the  space  of  a  moment. 

"Oh,  God — oh,  God,  leave  him  with  me!  Holdback 
Thy  avenging  hand — grant  a  respite.  Omnipotent  One,  first 
witness  my  atonement — first  try  whether  I  may  not  be  saved 
by  mercy !  Friends,  friends,  pray  with  me !  " 

She  clasped  their  hands  as  if  imploring  help.  Her  strength 
was  failing.  Trembling,  she  sank  beside  Ludwig,  and  pressed 
her  forehead,  bedewed  with  cold  perspiration,  against  his  arm. 


STATIONS    OF    SORROW.  429 

All  bared  their  heads  and  prayed  in  a  low  tone.  Made- 
leine's breast  heaved  in  mortal  anguish  and,  almost  stifled  by 
her  suppressed  tears,  she  could  only  falter,  half  uncon- 
sciously: "  Have  pity  upon  us!" 

Meanwhile  the  doctor  had  made  all  necessary  prepara- 
tions and  was  waiting  for  the  patient  to  wake  in  order  to 
remove  him  to  his  home. 

The  murmured  prayers  had  ceased  and  the  friends  gath- 
ered silently  around  the  bed.  The  countess  again  knelt  be- 
side the  invalid,  clasping  him  in  a  gentle  embrace.  Her  tears 
were  now  checked  lest  she  might  disturb  him,  but  they  con- 
tinued to  flow  in  her  heart.  Her  lips  rested  on  his  hand  in  a 
long  kiss — the  hand  which  had  once  supported  and  guided 
her  now  lay  pale  and  thin  on  the  coverlet,  as  if  it  would  never 
more  have  strength  to  clasp  hers  with  a  loving  pressure. 

"  Are  you  weeping,  dear  wife  ?  " 

That  voice!  She  raised  her  head,  but  could  not  meet  the 
eyes  which  gazed  at  her  so  tenderly.  Dared  she,  the  con- 
demned one,  enjoy  the  bliss  of  that  look  ?  No,  never!  And, 
without  raising  an  eyelash,  she  hid  her  guilty  brow  with  unut- 
terable tenderness  upon  his  breast.  The  feeble  hand  was 
raised  and  gently  stroked  her  cheek,  touching  it  as  lightly  as 
a  withered  leaf. 

"  Do  not  weep !  "  he  whispered  with  the  voice  of  a  con- 
soling angel:  "Be  calm — God  is  good,  He  will  be  merciful 
to  us  also." 

Oh,  trumpet  of  the  Judgment  Day,  what  is  thy  blare  to 
the  sinner,  compared  to  the  gentle  words  of  pardoning  love 
from  a  wounded  breast  ? 

The  countess  was  overpowered  by  the  mild,  merciful  judg- 
ment.— 

A  living  lane  had  formed  in  front  of  the  theatre.  He  was 
to  be  carried  home,  rumor  said,  and  the  people  were  waiting 
in  a  dense  throng  to  see  him.  At  last  a  movement  ran 
through  the  ranks.  "  He  is  coming !  Is  he  alive  ?  Yes,  they 
say  he  is !  " 

Slowly  and  carefully  the  men  bore  out  the  litter  on  which 
he  lay,  pale  and  motionless  as  a  dead  man.  The  pastor 
walked  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other,  steadying  his  head,  the 


43°  ON   THE   CROSS. 

countess.     She  could  scarcely  walk,  but  she  did  not  avert  her 
eyes  from  him. 

As  on  the  way  to  Golgotha,  low  sobs  greeted  the  little 
procession.  "  Oh,  dear,  poor  fellow!  Ah,  just  one  look,  one 
touch  of  the  hand,"  the  people  pleaded.  "  Wait  just  one 
moment." 

As  if  by  a  single  impulse  the  bearers  halted  and  the  peo- 
ple pressed  forward  with  throbbing  hearts,  modestly,  rever- 
ently touching  the  hanging  coverlet,  and  gazing  at  him  with 
tearful  eyes  full  of  unutterable  grief. 

The  countess,  with  a  beautiful  impulse  of  humanity,  gently 
drew  his  hand  from  under  the  wraps  and  held  it  to  the  sor- 
rowing spectators  who  had  waited  so  long,  that  they  might  kiss 
it — and  every  one  who  could  get  near  enough  eagerly  drank 
from  the  proffered  beaker  of  love.  Grateful  eyes  followed  the 
countess  and  she  felt  their  benediction  with  the  joy  of  the 
saints  when  God  lends  their  acts  the  power  of  divine  grace. 
She  was  now  a  beggar,  yet  never  before  had  she  been  rich 
enough  to  bestow  such  alms :  "  Yes,  kiss  his  hand — he  de- 
serves it!"  she  whispered,  and  her  eyes  beamed  with  a  love 
which  was  not  of  this  earth,  yet  which  blended  her,  the  world, 
and  everything  it  contained  into  a  single,  vast,  fraternal  com- 
munity ! 

Freyer  smiled  at  her — and  now  she  bore  the  sweet,  tender 
gaze,  for  she  felt  as  if  a  time  might  come  when  she  would 
again  deserve  it. 

At  last  they  reached  the  pretty  quiet  house  where  she  had 
that  morning  hired  lodgings  for  him  and  herself.  Mourning 
love  had  followed  him  to  the  spot,  the  throng  had  increased 
so  that  the  bearers  could  scarcely  get  in  with  the  litter.  "  Fare- 
well— poor  sufferer,  may  God  be  with  you,"  fell  from  every 
lip  as  he  was  borne  in  and  the  door  closed  behind  him. 

The  spacious  room  on  the  lower  floor  received  the  invalid. 
The  landlady  had  hurriedly  prepared  the  bed  and  he  was  laid 
in  it.  As  the  soft  pillows  arranged  by  careful  hands  yielded 
to  the  weary  form,  and  his  wife  bent  over  him,  supporting  his 
head  on  her  arm — he  glanced  joyously  around  the  circle,  un- 
able to  think  or  say  anything  except :  "  Oh,  how  comfortable 
I  am !  "  They  turned  away  to  hide  their  emotion. 


STATIONS   OF    SORROW.  43! 

i 

The  countess  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow  beside  him,  no 
longer  restraining  her  tears,  and  murmuring  in  his  ear: 
"Angel,  you  modest,  forgiving,  loving  angel!"  She  was  silent 
— forcing  herself  to  repress  the  language  of  her  heart,  for  the 
cry  of  her  remorse  might  disturb  the  feeble  invalid.  Yet  he 
felt  what  moved  her,  he  had  always  read  her  inmost  soul  so 
long  as  she  loved  him — not  until  strangers  came  between  them 
did  he  fail  to  comprehend  her.  Now  he  felt  what  she  must 
suffer  in  her  remorse  and  pitied  her  torture,  he  thought  only 
of  how  he  might  console  her.  But  this  moved  her  more  than 
all  the  reproaches  he  had  a  right  to  make,  for  the  greater,  the 
more  noble  his  nature  revealed  itself  to  be  the  greater  her 
guilt  became  ! 

The  friends  were  to  take  turns  in  helping  the  countess 
watch  the  invalid  through  the  night,  and  now  left  him.  The 
doctor  said  that  there  was  no  immediate  danger  and  went 
away  to  get  more  medicines.  When  all  had  gone,  she  knelt 
beside  the  bed  and  said  softly,  "Now  I  am  yours  !  I  do  not 
ask  whether  you  will  forgive  me,  for  I  see  that  you  have  al- 
ready done  so — I  ask  only  whether  you  will  again  take  the 
condemned,  sin-laden  woman  to  your  heart  ?  In  my  deed  to- 
day I  chose  the  fate  of  poverty.  I  can  offer  you  nothing 
more  in  worldly  wealth,  I  can  only  provide  you  with  a  simple 
home,  work  for  you,  nurse  you,  and  atone  by  lifelong  love  and 
fidelity  for  the  wrong  I  have  done  you.  Will  you  be  content 
with  that  ?" 

Freyer  drew  her  toward  him  with  all  his  feeble  strength. 
Tears  of  unutterable  happiness  were  trickling  down  his  cheeks. 
"  I  thank  Thee,  God,  Thou  has  given  her  to  me  to-day  for  the 
first  time !  Come,  my  wife — place  your  fate  trustfully  in  God's 
hands  and  your  dear  heart  in  mine,  and  all  will  be  well.  He 
will  be  merciful  and  suffer  me  to  live  a  few  years  that  I  may 
work  for  you,  not  you  for  me.  Oh,  blissful  words,  work  for  my 
wife,  they  make  me  well  again.  And  now,  while  we  are  alone, 
the  first  sacred  kiss  of  conjugal  love !" 

He  tried  to  raise  his  head,  but  she  pressed  it  with  gentle 
violence  back  upon  the  pillow.  "  No,  you  must  keep  per- 
fectly quiet.  Imagine  that  you  are  a  marble  statue — and  let 
me  kiss  you.  Remain  cold  and  let  all  the  fervor  of  a  repent- 
ant, loving  heart  pour  itself  upon  you."  She  stooped  and 


432  ON   THE    CROSS. 

touched  his  pale  mouth  gently,  almost  timidly,  with  her  quiv- 
ering lips. 

"  Oh,  that   was   again   an   angel's   kiss !"  he   murmured, 
clasping  his  hands  over  the  head  bowed  in  penitent  humility. 


CHAPTER   XL. 


NEAR  THE    GOAL. 

FROM  that  hour  Magdalena  Freyer  never  left  her  husband's 
bedside.  Though  friends  came  in  turn  to  share  the  night- 
watches,  she  remained  with  them.  After  a  few  days  the  doc- 
tor said  that  unless  an  attack  of  weakness  supervened,  the 
danger  was  over  for  the  present,  though  he  did  not  conceal 
from  her  that  the  disease  was  incurable.  She  clasped  her 
hands  and  answered :  "  I  will  consider  every  day  that  I  am 
permitted  to  keep  him  a  boon,  and  submissively  accept  what 
God  sends." 

After  that  time  she  always  showed  her  husband  a  smiling 
face,  and  he — perfectly  aware  of  his  condition — practiced  the 
same  loving  deception  toward  her.  Thus  they  continued  to 
live  in  the  salutary  school  of  the  most  rigid  self-control — she, 
bearing  with  dignity  a  sad  fate  for  which  she  herself  was  to 
blame — he  in  the  happiness  of  that  passive  heroism  of  Christ- 
ianity, which  goes  with  a  smile  to  meet  death  for  others !  An 
, atmosphere  of  cheerfulness  surrounded  this  sick-bed,  which 
can  be  understood  only  by  one  who  has  watched  for  months 
beside  the  couch  of  incurable  disease,  and  felt  the  gratitude 
with  which  every  delay  of  the  catastrophe,  every  apparent  im- 
provement is  greeted — the  quiet  delight  afforded  by  every  little 
relief  given  the  beloved  sufferer,  every  smile  which  shows  us 
he  feels  somewhat  easier. 

This  cup  of  anguish  the  penitent  woman  now  drained  to 
the  dregs.  True,  a  friendly  genius  always  stood  beside  it  to 
comfort  her :  the  hope  that,  though  not  fully  recovered,  he 
might  still  be  spared  to  her.  "  How  many  thousands  who 
have  heart  disease,  with  care  and  nursing  live  to  grow  old." 
This  thought  sustained  her.  Yet  the  ceaseless  anxiety  and 


NEAR   THE    GOAL.  433 

sleepless  nights  exhausted  her  strength.  Her  cheeks  grew 
hollow,  dark  circles  surrounded  her  eyes,  but  she  did  not 
heed  it. 

"  I  still  please  my  husband !  "  she  said  smiling,  in  reply 
to  all  entreaties  to  spare  herself  on  account  of  her  altered 
appearance. 

"My  dove!"  Freyer  said  one  evening,  when  Ludwig  came 
for  the  night-watch :  "  Now  I  must  show  a  husband's  authority 
and  command  you  to  take  some  rest,  you  cannot  go  on  in 
this  way." 

"  Oh !  never  mind  me — if  I  should  die  for  you,  what 
would  it  matter  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  just  atonement  ?  " 

"  No — that  would  be  no  atonement,"  he  said  tenderly, 
pushing  back  the  light  fringe  of  curls  that  shaded  her  brow, 
as  if  he  wished  to  read  her  thoughts  on  it :  "  My  child,  you 
must  l.ve  for  me — that  is  your  atonement.  Do  you  think  you 
would  do  anything  good  if  you  expiated  your  fault  by  death 
and  said :  '  There  you  have  my  life  for  yours,  now  we  are 
quits,  you  have  no  farther  claim  upon  me ! '  Would  that  be 
love,  my  dove  ?  " 

He  drew  her  gently  toward  him :  "  Or  would  you  prefer 
that  we  should  be  quits  thus,  and  that  I  should  desire  no  other 
expiation  from  you  than  your  death  ? "  She  threw  her  arms 
around  him,  clasping  him  in  a  closer  and  closer  embrace. 
There  was  no  need  of  speech,  the  happy,  blissful  throbbing  of 
her  heart  gave  sufficient  answer.  He  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head :  "  Now  sleep,  beloved  wife  and  rest — do  it  for  my  sake, 
that  I  may  have  a  fresh,  happy  wife ! " 

She  rose  as  obediently  as  a  child,  but  it  was  hard  for  her, 
and  she  nodded  longingly  from  the  door  as  if  a  boundless, 
hopeless  distance  already  divided  them. 

"  Ludwig ! "  said  Freyer,  gazing  after  her  in  delight : 
"  Ludwig,  is  this  love  ?  " 

"Yes,  by  Heaven!"  replied  his  friend,  deeply  moved: 
"  Happy  man,  I  would  bear  all  your  sorrows — for  one  hour 
like  this ! " 

"  Have  you  now  forgiven  what  she  did  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  from  my  very  soul !  " 

"  Magdalena,"  cried  Freyer.  "  Come  in  again — you  must 
know  it  before  you  sleep— Ludwig  is  reconciled  to  you." 


434  ON  THE  CROSS. 

"  Ludwig,"  said  the  countess :  "  my  strict,  noble  friend,  I 
thank  you." 

Leading  him  to  the  invalid,  she  placed  their  hands  to- 
gether. "  Now  we  are  again  united,  and  everything  is  just  as 
it  was  ten  years  ago — only  I  have  become  a  different  person, 
and  a  new  and  higher  life  is  beginning  for  me." 

She  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  brow  of  her  husband  and 
friend,  as  if  to  seal  a  vow,  then  left  them  alone. 

"  Oh,  Ludwig,  if  I  could  see  you  so  happy !  " 

"  Do  not  be  troubled — whoever  has  experienced  this  hour 
with  you,  needs  nothing  for  himself,"  he  answered,  an  expres- 
sion of  the  loftiest,  most  unselfish  joy  on  his  pallid  face. 

The  countess,  before  retiring,  sent  for  Martin  who  was 
still  in  Oberammergau,  awaiting  her  orders,  and  went  out  into 
the  garden  that  Freyer  might  not  hear  them  talking  in  the 
next  room.  "  Martin,"  she  said  with  quiet  dignity,  though 
there  was  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice,  "  it  is  time  for  me  to 
give  some  thought  to  worldly  matters.  During  the  last  few 
days  I  could  do  nothing  but  devote  myself  to  the  sick  bed. 
Drive  home,  my  good  Martin,  and  give  the  carriage  and 
horses  to  the  Wildenaus.  Tell  them  what  has  happened,  if 
they  do  not  yet  know  it,  I  cannot  write  now.  Meanwhile, 
you  faithful  old  servant,  tell  them  to  take  all  I  have — my 
jewels,  my  palace,  my  whole  private  fortune.  Only  I  should 
like — for  the  sake  of  my  sick  hushand — to  have  them  leave 
me,  for  humanity's  sake,  enough  to  get  him  what  he  needs  for 
his  recovery !  "  here  her  voice  failed. 

"  Countess — " 

"  Oh,  don't  call  me  that ! " 

"  Yes — for  the  countess  will  always  be  what  she  is,  even  as 
Herr  Freyer's  wife!  I  only  wanted  to  say,  Your  Highness, 
that  I  wouldn't  do  that.  If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  give  them 
a  single  kind  word.  I'll  take  back  the  carriage  and  horses 
and  say  that  they  can  have  everything  which  belongs  to  you. 
But  I  won't  beg  for  my  Countess!  I  think  it  would  be  less 
disgrace  if  you  should  condescend  to  accept  something  from 
a  plain  man  like  myself,  who  would  consider  it  an  honor  and 
whom  you  needn't  thank!  I — "  he  laughed  awkwardly:  "  I 
only  want  to  say,  if  you  won't  take  offence — that  I  bargained 
for  a  little  house  to-day.  But  I  did  it  in  your  name,  so  that 


NEAR    THE    GOAL.  435 

i 

Your  Highness  needn't  be  ashamed  to  live  with  me !  I  haven't 
any  kith  and  kin  and — and  it  will  belong  to  you." 

"  Martin,  Martin  !  "  the  proud  woman  humbly  bent  her 
head.  "  Be  it  so !  You  shall  help  me,  if  all  else  abandons  me. 
I  will  accept  it  as  a  loan  from  you.  I  can  paint — I  will  try  to 
earn  something,  perhaps  from  one  of  the  fashion  journals,  to 
which  I  have  always  subscribed.  The  maid  once  told  me  I 
might  earn  my  living  by  it — it  was  a  prophecy !  So  I  can, 
God  willing,  repay  you  at  some  future  day." 

"Oh,  we  won't  talk  about  that1"  cried  Martin  joyously, 
kissing  the  countess'  hands. 

"  If  I  may  have  a  little  room  under  the  roof  for  myself — 
we'll  call  it  the  interest.  And  I  have  something  to  spare  be- 
sides, for — you  must  eat,  too." 

The  countess  covered  her  face  with  her  trembling  hands. 

"  Now  I'll  drive  home  and  in  Your  Highness'  name  throw 
carriage,  horses,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  rubbish  at  the  Wilde- 
naus'  feet — then  I'll  come  back  and  bring  something  nice  for 
our  invalid  which  can't  be  had  here  —  and  my  livery,  for 
Sundays  and  holidays,  so  that  we  can  make  a  good  appear- 
ance! And  I'll  look  after  the  garden  and  house,  and — do 
whatever  else  you  need.  Oh,  I've  never  been  so  happy  in 
my  life !  " 

He  left  her,  and  the  countess  stood  gazing  after  him  a 
long  time,  deeply  shamed  by  the  simple  fidelity  of  the  old 
man,  who  wished  to  wear  her  livery  and  be  her  servant,  while 
he  was  really  her  benefactor :  In  truth — high  or  low — human 
nature  is  common  to  all.  Martin  returned:  "  Doesn't  Your 
Highness  wish  to  bid  farewell  to  the  horses  ?  Shan't  I  drive 
past,  or  will  it  make  you  feel  too  badly  ?  " 

"  Beautiful  creatures,"  a  tone  of  melancholy  echoed  in  her 
voice  as  she  spoke:  "No,  Martin,  I  don't  want  to  see  them 
again." 

"  Yes,  yes — !  "  Martin  had  understood  her,  and  pitied  her 
more  than  for  anything  else,  for  it  seemed  to  him  the  hardest 
of  sacrifices  to  part  with  such  beautiful  horses. 

The  countess  remained  alone  in  the  little  garden.  The 
stars  were  shining  above  her  head.  She  thought  of  the 
diamond  stars  which  she  had  once  flung  to  Freyer  in  false 
atonement,  to  place  in  the  dead  child's  coffin — if  she  had 


436  ON    THE   CROSS. 

them  now  to  use  their  value  to  support  her  sick  husband — 
that  would  be  the  fitting  atonement. 

"  Only  do  not  let  him  starve,  oh,  God !  If  I  were  forced  to 
see  him  starve !  Oh,  God ! — spare  me  that,  if  it  can  be !  " 
she  prayed,  her  eyes  uplifted  with  anxious  care  to  the  glitter- 
ing star-strewn  vault. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  a  woman's  figure  suddenly  emerged  from 
the  shadow  at  her  side. 

"  Oh,  Mary — Anastasia ! " 
.      "How  is  he?" 

"  Better,  I  think !  He  was  very  cheerful  this  evening! — " 

"  And  you,  Frau  Freyer — how  is  it  with  you?  It  is  hard,  is 
it  not  ?  There  are  things  to  which  we  must  become  accus- 
tomed." 

"  Yes." 

•"  I  can  understand.  But  do  not  lose  confidence — God  is 
always  with  us.  And — I  will  pray  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  whom 
I  have  so  often  personated!  But  if  there  is  need  of  anything 
where  human  power  can  aid,  I  may  help,  may  I  not  ?  " 

"  Mary — angel,  be  my  teacher — sister!  " 

"No,  mother!"  said  Anastasia  smiling:  "For  if  Freyer 
is  my  son,  you  must  be  my  daughter.  Oh,  you  two  poor 
hearts,  I  am  and  shall  now  remain  your  mother,  Mary !  " 

"  Mother  Mary !  " — the  countess  repeated,  and  the  two 
women  held  each  other  in  a  loving  embrace. 

The  week  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  burgomaster 
was  now  obliged  to  consider  the  question  of  the  distribution 
of  parts.  He  found  the  patient  out  of  bed  and  wearing  a 
very  cheerful,  hopeful  expression. 

"  I  don't  know,  Herr  Freyer,  whether  I  can  venture  to 
discuss  my  important  business  with  you,"  he  began  timidly. 

"  Oh — I  understand — you  wish  to  know  when  I  can  play 
again  ?  Next  Sunday." 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest  ?  "  said  the  burgomaster,  almost 
startled. 

"  Not  in  earnest  ?  Herr  Burgomaster,  what  would  be  the 
value  of  all  my  oaths,  if  I  should  now  retreat  like  a  coward  ? 
Do  you  think  I  would  break  my  word  to  you  a  second  time, 
so  long  as  I  had  breath  in  my  body  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  so  long  as  it  is  in  your  power  to  hold  out. 


NEAR   THE    GOAL.  437 

> 

But  this  time  you  cannot !    Ask  the  doctor — he  will  not  allow 
it  so  soon." 

"  Am  I  to  ask  him,  when  the  question  concerns  the  most 
sacred  duty  ?  I  will  consult  him  about  my  life — but  my  du- 
ties are  more  than  my  life.  Only  thus  can  I  atone  for  the 
old  sin  which  ten  years  ago  made  me  a  renegade." 

"  And  you  say  this  now — when  you  are  so  happy  ?  " 

"  Herr  Burgomaster,"  replied  Freyer  with  lofty  serenity : 
"  A  man  who  has  once  been  so  happy  and  so  miserable  as  I, 
learns  to  view  life  from  a  different  standpoint !  No  joy  en- 
raptures, no  misfortune  terrifies  him.  Everything  to  which 
we  give  these  names  is  fluctuating,  and  only  one  happiness  is 
certain :  to  do  one's  duty — until  death  !  " 

"  Herr  Freyer !  That  is  a  noble  thought,  but  if  your  wife 
should  hear  it — would  she  agree  ?  " 

"  Surely,  for  she  thinks  as  I  do — if  she  did  not,  we  should 
never  have  been  united — she  would  never  have  cast  aside 
wealth,  rank,  power,  and  all  worldly  advantages  to  live  with 
me  in  exile.  Do  you  believe  she  did  so  for  any  earthly  cause  ? 
She  thinks  so — but  I  know  better :  The  cross  allured  her — 
as  it  does  all  who  come  in  contact  with  it." 

"  What  are  you  saying  about  the  cross  ? "  asked  the 
countess,  entering  the  room :  "  Good-morning,  Friend  Bur- 
gomaster ! " 

"  My  wife  !  He  will  not  believe  that  you  would  permit  me 
to  play  the  Christus  again — even  should  it  cost  my  life  ?  " 

The  countess  turned  pale  with  terror.  "  Oh,  Heaven,  are 
you  thinking  of  doing  so  ?  " 

"  Yes  " — replied  the  burgomaster :  "  He  will  not  be  dis- 
suaded from  it ! " 

"Joseph!"  said  the  countess  mournfully:  "Will  you  in- 
flict this  grief  upon  me — now,  when  you  have  scarcely  re- 
covered ?  " 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  have  played  the  Christus  when  I  felt 
far  worse  than  I  do  now — thanks  to  your  self-sacrificing  care, 
dear  wife." 

Tears  filled  the  countess'  eyes,  and  she  remained  silent. 

"  My  dove,  do  we  not  understand  each  other  ?  " 

"  Yes  " — she  said  after  a  long,  silent  struggle :  "  Do  it,  my 
beloved  husband — give  yourself  to  God,  as  I  resign  you  to 


438  ON   THE    CROSS. 

Him.  He  has  only  loaned  you  to  me,  I  dare  not  keep  you 
from  Him,  if  He  desires  to  show  Himself  again  to  the  world 
in  your  form !  I  will  cherish  and  tend  and  watch  over  you, 
that  you  may  endure  it!  And  when  you  are  taken  down  from 
the  cross,  I  will  rub  your  strained  limbs  and  bedew  your  burn- 
ing brow  with  the  tears  of  all  the  sorrows  Mary  and  Magda- 
lene suffered  for  the  Crucified  One,  and — when  you  have 
rested  and  again  raise  your  eyes  to  mine  with  a  smile,  I  will 
rest  your  head  upon  my  breast  in  the  blissful  feeling  that  you 
are  no  God  Who  will  ascend  to  Heaven — but  a  man,  a  tender, 
beloved  man,  and — my  own.  Oh,  God  cannot  destroy  such 
happiness,  and  if  He  does,  He  will  only  draw  you  to  Him- 
self, that  I  may  therefore  long  the  more  fervently  for  you,  for 
Him,  Who  is  the  source  of  all  love — then — "  her  voice  was 
stifled  by  tears  as  she  laid  her  head  on  his  breast — "  then  your 
wife  will  not  murmur,  but  wait  silently  and  patiently  till  she 
can  follow  you."  Leaning  on  his  breast,  she  wept  softly, 
clasping  him  in  her  arms  that  he  might  not  be  torn  from 
her. 

"  Dear  wife,"  he  answered  gently,  and  the  wonderfully 
musical  voice  trembled  with  the  most  sacred  emotion,  "  we 
will  accept  whatever  God  sends — loyal  to  the  cross — you  and 
I,  beloved,  high-hearted  woman  !  Do  not  weep,  my  dove  ! 
Being  loyal  to  the  cross  does  not  mean  only  to  be  patient — it 
means  also  to  be  strong !  Does  not  the  soldier  go  bravely  to 
death  for  an  earthly  king,  and  should  not  I  joyfully  peril  my 
life  for  my  God?  " 

"  Yes,  my  husband  you  are  right,  I  will  be  strong.  Go, 
then,  holy  warrior,  into  the  battle  for  the  ideal  and  put  your- 
self at  the  disposal  of  your  brave  fellow  combatants!"  She 
slowly  withdrew  her  arms  from  his  neck  as  if  taking  a  long, 
reluctant  farewell. 

The  burgomaster  resolutely  approached.  "  We  people  of 
Ammergau  must  bow  to  this  sacred  zeal.  This  is  indeed  a 
grandeur  which  conquers  death !  Whoever  sees  this  effect  of 
our  modest  Play  on  souls  like  yours  cannot  be  mistaken  in 
believing  that  the  power  which  works  such  miracles  does  not 
emanate  from  men,  and  must  proceed  from  a  God.  But  as 
He  is  a  God  of  love,  He  will  not  accept  your  sacrifice. 
Freyer  must  not  take  the  part  which  might  cost  hiin  his  life, 


NEAR   THE    GOAL. 


439 


We  will  find  a  Christus  elsewhere  and  thus  manage  for  this- 
time." 

Freyer  fixed  his  eyes  mournfully  on  the  ground.  "  Now 
the  crown  has  indeed  fallen  from  my  head!  God  has  no 
longer  accepted  me — I  am  shut  out  from  the  sacred  work !  " 

The  burgomaster  placed  his  wife  in  his  arms  :  "  Let  it  be 
your  task  now  to  guard  this  soul  and  lead  it  to  its  destination 
— this,  too,  is  a  sacred  work  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  amen  !  "  said  Freyer. 

* 

The  ex-countess  and  the  former  Christus,  both  divested  of 
their  temporary  dignity,  verified  his  words,  attaining  in  hu- 
mility true  dignity  !  Freyer  rallied  under  the  care  of  his 
beloved  wife,  and  they  used  the  respite  allotted  to  them  by 
leading  a  life  filled  with  labor,  sacrifice,  and  gratitude  toward 
God. 

"  You  ask  me,  dear  friend,"  the  countess  wrote  a  year 
later  to  the  Duke  of  Barnheim,  "  whether  you  can  assist  me 
in  any  way  ?  I  thank  you  for  the  loyal  friendship,  but  must 
decline  the  noble  offer.  Contentment  does  not  depend  upon 
what  we  have,  but  what  we  need,  and  I  have  that,  for  my 
wants  are  few.  This  is  because  I  have  obtained  blessings, 
which  formerly  I  never  possessed  and  which  render  me  inde- 
pendent of  everything  else.  Much  as  God  has  taken  from 
me,  He  has  bestowed  in  exchange  three  precious  gifts :  con- 
tempt for  the  vanities  of  the  world,  appreciation  of  the  little 
pleasures  of  life,  and  recognition  of  the  real  worth  of  human 
beings.  I  am  not  even  so  poor  as  you  imagine.  My  faithful 
old  Martin,  who  will  never  leave  me,  helped  me  out  of  the 
first  necessity.  Afterwards  the  Wildenaus'  were  induced  to 
give  up  my  private  property,  jewels,  dresses,  and  works  of 
art,  and  their  value  proved  sufficient  to  pay  Martin  for  the 
little  house  he  had  purchased  for  me  and  to  establish  for  my 
husband  a  small  shop  for  the  sale  of  wood-carving,  so  that  he 
need  not  be  dependent  upon  others.  When  he  works  indus- 
triously— which  he  is  only  too  anxious  to  do  at  the  cost  of 
his  delicate  health — we  can  live  without  anxiety,  though,  of 
course,  very  simply.  I  know  how  many  of  my  former  ac- 
quaintances would  shudder  at  the  thought  of  such  a  prosaic 


44°  ON   THE   CROSS. 

existence !  To  them  I  would  say  that  I  have  learned  not  to 
seek  poetry  in  life,  but  to  place  it  there.  Yes,  tell  the  mock- 
ing world  that  Countess  Wildenau  lives  by  her  husband's 
labor  and  is  not  ashamed  of  it !  My  friend !  To  throw  away  a 
fortune  for  love  of  a  woman  is  nothing— but  to  toil  year  in  and 
year  out,  with  tireless  fidelity  and  sacrifice,  to  earn  a  wife's 
daily  bread  in  the  sweat  of  one's  brow,  is  something !  Do 
you  know  what  it  is  to  a  woman  to  owe  her  life  daily  to  her 
beloved  husband  ?  An  indescribable  happiness !  You,  my 
friend,  would  have  bestowed  a  principality  upon  me,  and  I 
should  have  accepted  it  as  my  rightful  tribute,  without  owing 
you  any  special  gratitude — but  the  hand  which  toils  for  me  I 
kiss  every  evening  with  a  thrill  of  grateful  reverence. 

"  So  do  not  grieve  for  me !  Wed  the  lovable  and  charm- 
ing Princess  Amalie  of  whom  you  wrote,  and  should  you  ever 
came  with  your  young  wife  into  the  vicinity  of  the  little  house 
surrounded  by  rustling  firs,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Kofel,  I 
should  be  cordially  glad  to  welcome  you. 

"  Farewell !  May  you  be  as  happy,  my  noble  friend,  asw 
you  deserve,  and  leave  to  me  my  poverty  and  my  'wealth,* 
You  see  that  the  phantom  has  become  reality — the  ideal  is 
attained.         "Your  old  friend         "MAGDALENA  FREYER." 

When  the  duke  received  this  letter  his  valet  saw  him,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  weep  bitterly. 


CONCLUSION. 


,  FROM    ILLUSION    TO    TRUTH. 

FOR  ten  years  God  granted  the  loving  wife  her  husband's 
life,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  entirely  recovered.  At  last  the  day 
came  when  He  required  it  again.  For  the  third  time  the  com- 
munity offered  Freyer  the  part  of  the  Christus.  He  was  still 
a  handsome  man,  and  spite  of  his  forty-eight  years,  as  slender 
as  a  youth,  while  his  spiritual  expression,  chaste  and  lofty — 
rendered  him  more  than  ever  an  ideal  representative  of  Christ. 
God  bestowed  upon  him  the  full  cup  of  the  perfection  of  his 
destiny,  and  it  was  completed  as  he  had  longed.  Not  on  a  sick- 
succumbing  to  lingering  disease — but  high  on  the  cross, 


FROM    ILLUSION   TO   TRUTH.  44! 

as  victor  over  gain  and  death..  God  had  granted  him  the 
grace  of  at  last  completing  the  task — he  had  held  out  this 
time  until  the  final  performance — then,  when  they  took  him 
down  from  the  cross  for  the  last  time  under  the  falling  leaves, 
amid  the  first  snow  of  the  late  autumn — he  did  not  wake 
again.  On  the  cross  the  noble  heart  had  ceased  to  beat,  he 
had  entered  into  the  peace  of  Him  Whom  he  personated — 
passed  from  illusion  to  truth — from  the  copy  to  the  prototype. 

Never  did  mortal  die  a  happier  death,  never  did  a  more 
beautiful  smile  of  contentment  rest  upon  the  face  of  a  corpse. 

"  It  is  finished !  You  have  done  in  your  way  what  your 
model  did  in  His,  you  have  sealed  the  sacred  lesson  of  love 
by  your  death,  my  husband ! "  said  the  pallid  woman  who 
pressed  the  last  kiss  upon  his  lips. 

The  semblance  had  become  reality,  and  Mary  Magdalene 
was  weeping  beside  her  Redeemer's  corpse. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  crucifixion,  when  the  true 
Christ  had  risen,  Freyer  was  borne  to  his  grave. 

But,  like  the  phoenix  from  its  ashes,  on  that  day  the  real 
Christ  rose  from  the  humble  sepulchre  for  the  penitent. 

"  When  wilt  thou  appear  to  me  in  the  spring  garden, 
Redeeming  Love?"  she  had  once  asked.  Now  she  was — in 
the  autumn  garden — beside  the  grave  of  all  happiness. 

When  the  coffin  had  been  lowered  and  the  pall-bearers 
approached  the  worn,  drooping  widow,  the  burgomaster  asked: 
"  Where  do  you  intend  to  live  now,  Madame  ?  " 

"  Where,  except  in  Ammergau,  here — where  his  foot  has 
marked  for  me  the  path  to  God  ?  Oh,  my  Gethsemane ! " 

"  But,"  said  the  pastor,  "  will  you  exile  yourself  forever  in 
this  quiet  village  ?  Do  you  not  wish  to  return  to  your  own 
circle  and  the  world  of  culture  ?  You  have  surely  atoned  suf- 
ficiently." 

"  Atoned  ?  No,  your  Reverence,  not  atoned,  for  the  highest 
happiness  is  no  atonement — expiation  is  beginning  now"  She 
turned  toward  the  Christ  which  hung  on  the  wall  of  the  church, 
not  far  from  the  grave,  and  extending  her  arms  toward  it  mur- 
mured :  "  Now  I  have«<?//«X^save  Thee  /  Thou  hast  conquered 
— idea  of  Christianity,  thy  power  is  eternal !  " 

The  cloud  of  tears  hung  heavily  over  Ammergau,  falling 
from  time  to  time  in  damp  showers. 


442 


ON   THE   CROSS. 


Evening  had  closed  in.  Through  the  lighted  windows  of 
the  gro'und  floor  of  a  little  house,  surrounded  by  rustling 
pines,  two  women  were  visible,  Mary  and  Magdalena.  The 
latter  was  kneeling  before  the  "Mother"  whose  clasped  hands 
were  laid  upon  her  head  in  comfort  and  benediction. 

The  lamps  in  the  low-roofed  houses  of  the  village  were 
gradually  lighted.  The  peasants  again  sat  in  their  ragged 
blouses  on  the  carvers'  benches,  toiling,  sacrificing,  and  bear- 
ing their  lot  of  poverty  and  humility,  proud  in  the  conscious- 
ness that  every  ten  years  there  will  be  a  return  of  the  moment 
which  strips  off  the  yoke  and  lays  the  purple  on  their  shoul- 
ders, the  moment  when  in  their  midst  the  miracle  is  again 
performed  which  spreads  victoriously  throughout  a  penitent 
world — the  moment  which  brings  to  weary,  despairing  hu- 
manity peace  and  atonement — on  the  cross. 


THE    END. 


-*- 


«3"  I 


